The Tainted Fellowship
by Darth Malleus
Summary: As the Fifth Blight rages around them a ragtag group of nobles, commoners, mages, thieves and warriors must band together against an ancient evil long thought consigned to history. Can they unite a bitterly divided country and it's peoples, or will they be torn apart by the myriad of enemies arrayed against them? Loghain did not withdraw. Multi-Origin. Originally Ballad of Ostagar.
1. Trial by Fire

_**Dragon Age**_

 _ **Ballad of Ostagar**_

 _ **Prologue**_

 _ **Synopsis:**_ _Their world crumbling in around them. Thrown into a fight they barely understand and they doubt they could win. The only thing they can do is put one foot in front of the other, and trust that in both themselves and each other they can endure. All Origins. Ferelden's win Ostagar._

* * *

The horde burst forth from the tree line, a tide of black monsters streaming from the cover of the dark trees in their thousands. A colossal war host whose sole purpose was simply to destroy, to kill everything in their path. The screams and screeches of the monsters could be heard no matter where on the field you were, whether you were within the ranks of the King's army or still within the fortress.

August Cousland watched the tide of death encroach towards them, unable to peel his eyes away from the sight. Until recently he had never even seen Darkspawn let alone fought against them. Until barely a week ago he had considered them old scare stories parents told their children to make them behave. Eat your vegetables, go to bed early, listen to your elders or the Darkspawn will come and get you. His first and so far only encounter was out in the Wilds earlier in the day and even then that was just a small band of monsters and not the vast army coming towards them.

If he felt such fear watching this horde approaching from a distance then what must the King's own troops feel standing against them? Down below stood the King's army, which the King himself was leading, alongside several Arls and Banns and Duncan and his Grey Wardens. The thought brought a further burden onto his shoulders. If he failed to light the beacon, to summon the other half of the army under Teyrn Loghain, then it would be a miracle for the King's own force to win the day and not all be slaughtered where they stood.

The arrows were loosed first, a cloud of black metal and timber flying high into the air, pivoting as one and falling upon the monsters as one. The first wave of monsters fell, arrows piercing through legs and arms, through eye sockets and chests. Those who fell were trampled underfoot by those behind them.

Still the horde came.

The Mabari were unleashed next, nearly a hundred of the magnificent warhounds released by their handlers and covering the distance between them and the horde in moments. They barrelled into them, knocking Hurlocks and Genlocks aside, powerful jaws piercing flesh and breaking bone.

The horde stumbled, their momentum gone.

There was a roar from below, and the war cry roused many others to shout and roar and scream their defiance against the enemy. Then finally the army charged, with a golden armoured King at the head, leading thousands of armed and armoured men and women into battle. The image roused August from his stupefied thoughts and returned to him his resolve.

They needed to light the beacon.

"Watch out!"

Someone barrelled into him, sending the two of them flying to the ground in an entanglement of limbs. August looked up to see that it was Alistair, his fellow and senior Grey Warden who had tackled him to the ground. He was about to curse at him, demand what he was doing, but the words never came as a flaming fireball smashed into the portion of the bridge he had stood a moment before, the two archers loosing arrows crushed underneath the heavy and burning rock.

It wasn't the only one, flaming fireballs flew from the tree line, aiming at the fortress itself. August quickly scrambled to his feet and followed Alistair along the bridge, casting quick glances as the debris both flew overhead and connected with the bridge, archers who were positioned there to support the troops on the ground were either being crushed or thrown aside like ragdolls.

It seemed like an eternity before they crossed the bridge and made it to the moderate safety of the other side, the tower of Ishal now just a few meters away from them. August bent over, catching his breath before looking over to Alistair. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Alistair replied, nodding his head. Another crash signalled that yet another fireball had struck the bridge, sending a few more men flying. "How the hell are they doing that."

"Siege engines I think, maybe catapults or trebuchets," August answered, remembering those times when his father would explain warfare and tactics to both Fergus and himself. He had always found those lectures the most interesting, learning about historic battles, assembling armies, laying siege to castles and cities. When he was a child he would dream of fighting alongside his father, of becoming a great Knight and hero. Needless to say it wasn't what he had expected.

"But the Darkspawn are supposed to be a mindless horde. How the hell can they construct siege engines!" Alistair asked, watching as yet another fireball flew overhead, a trail of smoke following in its wake.

"Don't know, doesn't matter." August shook himself and smacked his cheeks with his hands. "The King's army is moving, and we need to light that Beacon."

Alistair took a long look at the ruined bridge, its ramparts broken and flaming, of the surviving archers who remained at their posts, firing arrow after arrow into the black tide before them. He fell into step with August, the two Wardens making their way to the tower and the beacon. All they needed to do was light it.

The oaken doors separating the tower from the entrance opened with a groan of barely used hinges and a handful of men barrelled through, their weapons drawn and black blood on their armour. August and Alistair quickened their steps, closing the distance at a jog by the time they reached them.

"What's wrong?" August demanded, giving the handful of men a critical eye. One of them was a Mage, by the robes and staff, but the others were soldiers

"Darkspawn," one of the men almost cried, face pale and eyes wide. "They came through the bottom of the tower. Their slaughtering everyone, the Guard Commander is dead, Maker help me oh Maker."

"Calm down," August almost shouted, fighting down the urge to panic himself. Darkspawn in the tower, between him and the beacon. He looked over to Alistair, waiting for the senior Warden of the two to get control of the situation, to give orders but found the man looking to him instead. August blinked, the cold knot expanding when he realised that Alistair was expecting him to take charge.

"Warden, what do we do?" The Mage asked, another two men stumbled from the open door. The shouts of men and monster, the clang of steel and the visceral squelching of blood being spilt and bones being broken. August took a deep breath, fighting down the panic, and hardened his resolve. He looked at the dozen men and drew both his weapons, his longsword and his father's dagger, painfully aware of the screech of metal against the leather hide of the scabbards.

"Draw weapons," he ordered, turning to the open door. He heard the sounds of swords being unsheathed and shields being un-slung. Those sounds were the balm he needed. He took his fear and panic and locked it away. He closed his eyes, took a deep cleansing breath and opened them again. He didn't look back. "Soldiers in front, archers and Mages behind! Let's take the tower back from these things!"

He entered through the great heavy doors at a trot and into the chaos. He took in everything at a glance. The defenders had been pushed from the entrance of the tower and into the courtyard, Darkspawn archers were loosing arrows from the ramparts and the stone steps, driving the men further back. He counted maybe a dozen more men and women still alive and fighting against thrice their number of Darkspawn.

He threw the dagger at the nearest Hurlock, the blade spinning through the air before imbedding into the creatures throat with a spurt of black blood. The creature fell back, gurgling and thrashing as August rushed past and into the fray. He cleaved another Hurlock from left shoulder to right thigh with his longsword, Alistair barrelling into the one beside him, pummelling him with his shield and killing the stumbling foe with a quick stab of his sword.

The men behind him roared a cry of battle before they too joined the melee, blades swinging and stabbing as the surprised monsters were cut down by sword and axe. A black arrow soared into a man's leg, and he uttered a surprised yelp before the Genlock he was fighting ran him through with a wickedly curved shortsword. August looked up in disgust at the archers on the rampart above, cursing them back to the hole they crawled from.

A blazing fireball encompassed them, setting them and the surrounding stonework alight in unnatural flame. He looked to his left to see the Mage raising his staff and calling upon the magic of the Fade. The magic which was despised and locked away by the Chantry, that he was taught to view with suspicion and fear all his life and in this very moment he couldn't be happier to see it.

One of the flaming archers fell from their perch, consumed by flames and screaming. August ignored the thrashing creature and forced himself onward to the base of the steps, sidestepping a Hurlock and dispatching him with a deft swing of his sword. His sword clashed with the blade of another Hurlock, and he looked into a nightmarish face of sickly green skin, pointed teeth and dark soulless eyes snarling at him.

Panic overtook him for a moment, but then he remembered the events which brought him here, of Cousland Castle in flames, of Orianna and Oren dead on the floor, of his father propped against a wall, stabbed in the back and left to die and of his mother ordering Duncan to take him while she held off their pursuers. He didn't see the Hurlock anymore, he saw that smug bastard Rendon Howe. He put his weight into his sword, sending the creature stumbling and took his head from his shoulders.

Alistair was suddenly there, between him and the stairs, his Templar shield raised and taking an arrow aimed at him with a dull thunk. He offered the Templar initiate a nod of thanks. That was the second time the senior Warden had saved his life, and August had to admit that maybe he had been unkind and rash in his first impression of the man.

The very air crackled with energy as a thunderbolt fizzed overhead and slammed onto the top of the steps. Another Mage, this one a woman, had managed to join them at the base of the steps, her eyes blazing and her staff crackling with energy as she fired off a series of thunderbolts at the archers in front of them. More men soon joined them, forming into a wall of shields as they ascended the steps, arrows thunking and thudding against the metal and wooden shields.

The second they reached the top of the stairs they broke apart, engaging the Darkspawn troops. They expected the lightly armed Genlocks and Hurlocks but they weren't expecting to run into an Emissary. August had fought one before in the Wilds, but was still unprepared for when it fired off a fireball, engulfing one of the soldiers in a burning ball of flame.

The Mage countered with another thunderbolt, catching the tall creature on the shoulder and staggering him. Alistair moved in next, battering him with his shield while August circled around him and stabbed him in the back. The Emissary roared its anger at the world before falling to a knee, attempted to swipe at Alistair with his staff, he missed and the former Templar finished him off with a deft swing of his blade.

August wrenched the sword from the dead Emissary and took another moment to catch his breath, moving over to the rampart overlooking the courtyard. The soldiers and guards had managed to rally and turn the tables, and what few Darkspawn left alive were quickly being dispatched. The entrance to the tower was theirs but there was an entire tower full of the monsters to clear and they didn't have the time to clear it.

He scanned the courtyard, trying to take his mind from the dark thoughts swirling through him, when his gaze fell upon something in the corner of the courtyard, something he did not expect and then an idea began to form in his mind. A crazy, insane, one in a million chance of working kind of idea but an idea none the less.

"We need to assemble the men, clear that tower out and light the beacon." Alistair said as he came to stand beside him. "The King won't be able to hold the horde off for much longer."

"Yes," August agreed offhandedly, eyes now fixed on the device. "But we're going to need to become a little bit creative."

"What?" August was suddenly moving, skipping steps as he descended to the ground, Alistair following him with a frown on his face, confused by his fellow Wardens sudden behaviour. "August what are you doing?"

August didn't answer at first, calling over a few of the men and ordering them to follow him but finally he gave Alistair a sideways glance. "We need to light the beacon as fast as possible, but ploughing into that tower and clearing it out will take more time than we can afford."

"The King's army should be able to hold out," Alistair put in, his frown deepening into confusion.

"It's not the King's army holding out that worries me," August replied, and the more he thought about it the more morbid sense it made. "Teyrn Loghain may be many things, a lot of which I don't agree with but he is a strategist and a realist first and foremost. If we take too much time and the King's forces are diminished to the point where they won't be able to hold the line then he will probably order his forces to withdraw to save what is left of the army."

"That's absurd," Alistair blurted out, horrified that his fellow Warden would even consider such a thing. "Cailan is like a son to Loghain, he was his father's best friend and practically raised the King. Cailan married his daughter! He wouldn't abandon him on the field to die let alone the army!"

"Loghain will do what he feels is best for Ferelden and if that means leaving the King to die then so be it. If we light that beacon and Cailan's army is too diminished or, Maker help me for saying it, destroyed then he will order the rest to march north." They came to a large object, covered by a tarpaulin cover to protect against the rain. He ordered the men to remove the cover. "That means we're going to need to get creative."

"Creative?"

The men pulled the cover away, revealing the object underneath. It was a ballista, a large wooden weapons platform not unlike a crossbow and it was already loaded with a javelin. It must have been left here to help protect it from the rain then conveniently forgotten about by whoever left it there. "Yes, creative. You there find me some rope, maybe a hundred lengths."

"Yes Warden!"

"The rest of you move it out into the open, can anyone operate it!?"

"Yes Warden, we can!"

"Very good, get her setup!" August ordered. "I want you to aim for the window at the top of the tower. That's where the beacon will be."

"What in the name of the Maker are you planning."

August grinned, "Just wait and see."

It didn't take long for the men to return with a very long and very sturdy rope, one end was tied onto the javelin while the other was tied onto the ballista itself, it's wheels kept in place by rocks. Alistair watched the whole thing, mentally ticking the minutes by in his head and then it clicked. "Please tell me you're not going to do what I _think_ you're going to do!?"

August's response was unbuckling the breastplate of his armour, followed by his gauntlets and greaves. By the time the ballista was ready to fire he was standing dressed in his underclothes, buckling his belt back into place, his sword and dagger sheathed. "Whatever you think I'm going to be doing is probably close enough."

"Are you out of your mind!?"

"Probably." August allowed with a shrug. "While I get up there and light the beacon I want you to take command of the men down here. Get into the tower and clear the Darkspawn out, make your way up to me and hopefully I'll have the top floor cleared and the beacon lit by the time you arrive."

"You _are_ out of your mind!" The Warden admonished, glaring at him. "You don't have any idea what's waiting for you up there. For all you know the Archdemon himself is there waiting for you!"

"I doubt the Archdemon can fit inside the tower." August countered lightly, tightening his belt.

"My point is you can't go up there alone." Alistair ground out.

"And how do you suppose we do that?" August asked, frowning. "I don't know if you noticed but there is only one rope and it can only take so much weight, that's _if_ it even works in the first place. That's why I've taken off my armour!"

"You'll still need someone with you!"

"Who!?"

"Excuse me, but I would like to volunteer." The two men turned from each other to glare at the one who spoke, who just barely managed to stop herself from flinching. It was a Mage, a young woman bedecked in robes with an oaken staff slung across her back. She was tall and willowy, though nearly half a head shorter than August with pale porcelain skin and unnaturally white hair. She steadied herself under their glares, strengthening her resolve as she repeated herself. "I would like to volunteer."

Alistair and August looked at each other for a moment, their argument forgotten. The junior Warden shook himself, and looked back at her. "What is your name?"

"I am Gwyneth Amell, Mage of the Circle." She introduced.

"You understand what I am about to do?"

"I do." She nodded.

"It could be a suicide mission." He continued.

She hesitated, and nodded. "I volunteer anyway."

A long moment passed, broken by footfalls as August closed the distance between them, studying her, and then moving as fast as a python he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her up with little effort. The Mage squeaked in shocked surprise as he set her down, cheeks reddening slightly as August nodded. "You're light."

She blinked at him.

"You're in."

A metallic clank signalled the ballista being fired, the javelin flew into the air, the rope unfurling fast behind it. For a moment August feared it would miss, that they would fail, that his revenge for his family would go unfulfilled. Then the javelin hit it's mark and broke through the stone just below the window and stayed there even when the men reeled in the rope and tied it into place.

"Well then, let's get going." August shouted as he walked towards the ballista, Amell following close behind. He turned to Alistair. "You do your part and we'll do ours."

Alistair hesitated, gulped and then nodded. "Alright, everyone else assemble. We're going to clear those ugly things out room by room. Same as before, swordsmen and shields up front, archers and Mages behind!"

August looked at the rope, now tightened and secured and then back at his volunteer. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, eyes lowered, wringing her hands under his gaze. "Yes Warden."

Was he sure about taking the girl along? No, the answer would be no. She was a Mage, and so was more powerful than appearances suggested, but looking at her August couldn't help but worry. Gwyneth looked thin and fragile, her alabaster skin too pale and what he could glimpse of her under the folds of her robes looked bony and slightly malnourished.

Still, as they began to use the now tout rope to begin their ascent he had to admit that he liked her determination. As they climbed the rope he didn't hear a peep from her, or a single complaint as the two of them climbed up the rope towards the stone wall. It hadn't been easy, and more than once the rope stretched worryingly, making him believe that it was going to snap and they would fall to their death.

It didn't and they made it to the stone towers surface, at least a meter below the window ledge. The surface was rough, with sharp edges and jutting blocks which made perfect footholds for them. August climbed with great ease, his childhood ascending and descending walls and trees with his brother shining through. The girl climbed slower, cautiously and with more than a little fear.

"Don't look down." August warned, and she nodded before doing just that. Her eyes flashed down and then she managed a cut off squeak before keeping her eyes set above her. August sighed. "What did I say?"

"Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed, pale cheeks colouring slightly.

He was the first to reach the window and clambered up and through, glad, and a little worried that the stained glass window had been smashed open. He drew his sword and ran the first of three Hurlocks through, spinning on his heel and drawing his dagger in time to slit the second's throat in midstride before blocking the thirds stab with his sword and imbedded his smaller blade into the creature's throat with a spurt of black blood.

He surveyed the large chamber. Saw a half dozen Human and Darkspawn corpses not including the ones he had just dispatched, weapons and broken pieces of armour strewn across the stone floor. The aftermath of a desperate fight for survival that the defenders had lost.

Then he noticed the Ogre.

It had been at the other end of the chamber, right in front of the huge fire pit where the beacon was to be lit, bent over and feasting on the remains of some poor soul who was little else than ripped apart flesh and body parts, drying blood congealing around his wickedly clawed feet. It rose slowly, ominously to its feet, arms and legs of bulging muscle, an ugly face of beady dark eyes, sharp teeth and long deadly horns. It fist alone could probably crush his skull with relative ease.

August widened his stance, longsword in one hand and ornamental dagger in the other as it turned to face him. Their eyes met and August felt just a small kindling of hope. No intelligence shone in those eyes, just the eyes of a desperate half mad animal. There would be no strategic thinking from this beast, no sentient thought or planning, just a full frontal attack.

It occurred to him that this epiphany may not help him in the grand scheme. Especially when the Ogre roared, a scream which rattled his bones and nearly popped his ears. August suddenly felt naked without his armour, removing it to shed weight for the climb or not it would have been very helpful in the face of a ton's worth of charging Ogre.

"Maker, give me a break!"

It did charge, just as Gwyneth had reached the window, unslung her staff from her back and unleash a torrent of magic which froze the stone floor between him and the approaching Ogre, screaming at him to get out of the way as it slipped and skidded across the floor right past him as he dived to the side and slammed into the far wall.

The girl hopped down from the windowsill and was soon standing beside him, staff gripped tightly in both hands as she watched the Ogre, dazed and pained from its skid and smash, slowly force itself to a knee and then to its feet. She caste another sheet of ice at the creatures feet, again making it stumble to a knee.

"Keep him occupied," August ordered as he turned to the wall, grabbed one of the still lit torches and throwing it into the pile of wood and oil which made up the beacon. For a brief moment he dreaded it wouldn't light before the flames sparked and spread, encompassing the timber and burning with deceptive merriness.

The pyre lit August turned and rushed back to the side of his Mage, noticing that her ice spells were not having as good an effect as last time against the creature, who seemed very angry with their actions. It rose, claws digging into the stone floor for balance as it glared at them and growled with a bestial menace, balling its clawed hands into fists and slamming them repeatedly into the ground with enough force to crack the stone.

"That doesn't look good." August surmised.

"Not helping, Ser Warden." Gwyneth ground out, hands gripping her staff so tightly they were trembling.

"Sorry." August apologised quietly, reversing his grip on his knife so that his hand was holding the blade, ready to throw. "Some lightning or more ice would be nice, Lady Mage."

"Yes Ser Warden," she growled lowly, brow furrowed in concentration as lightning crackled across the length of her oaken staff. "I am working on it."

"Please do," he replied, throwing the dagger at the Ogre as it was about to charge. The blade imbedded itself into the creatures shoulder, making it hesitate but not fall as it righted itself and continued its run right into a lightning bolt caste by his Mage. The bolt slammed into the Ogre's chest, stopping its advance and making it stumble back and exposing it's unprotected chest to the two of them.

August charged, reversing the grip on his longsword and holding it with both hands. He jumped just as the creature was struck with the bolt and stabbed the blade right into its chest. The Ogre screamed in surprised agony, continuing to stagger as August wrenched the dagger from the creatures shoulder and stabbing it into the chest as well. The creature staggered further, then began to spasm as it fell onto it's back, black blood spilled forth from the stab wounds.

The Mage appeared by his side, white light escaping the end of her staff to partially freeze the Ogre in its death throes, stopping it from tossing and crushing him under its weight if it threw him aside. August released a breath he didn't know he was holding, hands on his knees as he gasped for breathe.

"Are you alright, Ser Warden?" Gwyneth asked, herself looking quite winded, pretty face flushed with the exertion of casting her spells.

"Yeah, amazingly I'm still alive." August gasped, rolling off the dead Ogre, leaving his sword and dagger in the creature's chest, adrenaline bleeding away just like the black life fluid of the monster they had just killed. "Thank you."

Her face softened as she fell to her knees, her own adrenaline draining from her. "You're welcome, my Lord."

"You're going to get a recommendation for this." August breathed, taking in huge gulping breaths of air. "I'm serious about this Gwyneth. I wouldn't have survived that Ogre, let alone light the beacon, without you. Thank you."

Finally after what seemed like an eternity on his back August forced himself to roll over, then rose to a knee and finally up to his feet. Gwyneth was still on her knees, gasping for air from the climb and the skirmish, unable to follow him as he staggered towards the smashed stained glass window and looked out into the chilly night air. He watched, waiting to see the flicker of banners, the burning torches, the glinting of armour and columns of men charging to encircle the Darkspawn horde.

He was not disappointed.

He couldn't see the banners in the darkness, but he did see the glows of hundreds of torches as the other half of the King's army charged into the fray, cutting off the horde and crushing the thousands of monsters between the men and women of the King's host under Ostagar and the Teyrn's own army closing in from the forest.

It was a magnificent sight.

Upon seeing the army move August fell to his knees, eyes transfixed on the manoeuvre which the legendary Teyrn of Gwaren was executing with perfection. He heard the flutter of robes and the scuffle of well used sandals as the Mage girl half walked half staggered beside him, her own ice blue eyes watching the battle with rapt attention.

The great oak doors at the other end of the chamber opened with a rusty creak of joints as Alistair and his ragtag band of soldiers burst through and into the chamber, their armour and weapons stained black with the blood of the tainted as they entered.

The Templar initiate half walked half staggered to them, offering both a boyish smile as he watched the battle play out. "So, you did it?"

"Yeah," August agreed, grinning. "We did it."

"We broke through but I don't think we got all of them." Alistair explained as he fell into a sitting position beside the two. "We're going to need to go back and clear the rest of them out."

"Good idea," August replied, using his sword as a crutch and forcing himself back to his feet.

The first arrow struck him as he fully turned, and he idly noticed the almost charred wood which was the shaft before another imbedded itself in his chest. He fell back, seeing Gwyneth watching him fall, eyes wide and face pale. Alistair was shouting, turning to the door and grabbing his sword as the Darkspawn flooded into the chamber.

Darkness was all he knew after that.

* * *

 _I have been planning this story for some time and that is the reason why I've been so quiet as of late. I apologise to anyone who's been left waiting. I have been in a bit of a mess writing wise the last few years, with my interest in Naruto evaporating faster than a pond in the Sahara, so I spent some time seeing if there was anything which could get my attention, get my creative juices flowing again like they did way back when._

 _I have found the source my Muse needed. It started when I was reading a Star Wars/Harry Potter crossover called_ _The Havoc Side of the Force_ _by a writer called_ _Tsu Doh Nimh_ _, and then I found a Dragon Age story called_ _The Telling Tale_ _and became hooked on it. From there I found another story called_ _Victory at Ostagar_ _by_ Arsinoe de Blassenville and went from hooked to entranced. I loved the story and how complete it was, and I'm still reading it.

I also remember playing the first Dragon Age game Origins, and thought that the original openings to the story were genius but then they descended into the same story with different leads. If they had placed more individuality into the game then it would have gone from a yearly hit to perhaps the greatest RPG game of all time and more.

So I decided to throw my own Dragon Age story into the mix and see what happened, apologies if it seems a little late considering Origins was released several years ago and we're onto the third game and apologies if you see similarities with the authors mentioned above but that's just to get me going, and it will differentiate from the paths the later we go.

Thanks for your patience.

Darth Malleus.


	2. Ill News is an Ill Guest

_**Chapter 1**_

 _ **Ill News is an Ill Guest**_

August awoke with a gasp, visions of cackling Darkspawn and monstrous Archdemons fading from his mind as his eyes slowly adjusted to being open again. His darkened and blurred vision, barely able to discern colour or shape, slowly re-familiarising themselves to the creation of the world.

A barely discernable shape came into his unfocused vision, and he heard distorted and alien noises. A blur of bluish light flashed before him. A sense of relief and warmth flooded through him. His eyes began to focus and his hearing sharpened. Even his brain, which had felt so foggy and slow when he had awoken was beginning to clear.

The woman peering over him was familiar, a kind elderly face with white hair tied back into a messy bun and soft brown eyes which watched over him with a deep concentration and a trace of worry. He addled his brain, trying to remember when and where he had meet her. It took him a long moment to realise he was not in his bedroom of Highever Castle. Instead he was inside a tent by the fabric roof and steel piping. It took him a moment to remember where he was and the events which had transpired.

Another familiar face, another familiar woman was looking down at him, her youthful features creasing with worry as she studied him. He strained to try and remember her, taking in her pale alabaster skin, too pale for any creature who has seen the sun, deep blue eyes and unnatural white hair.

"He seems to be awake." the older woman said, her voice feint and distorted.

"Do you remember me?" The younger of the two asked, her own voice just as feint as the elder. "Can you hear me?"

"Hush dear," the elder whispered, placing a hand on her arm to gain her attention. "He will be weak and in need of rest. It will take time."

She opened her mouth, as if to argue before clamping it shut and looking back at him with eyes full of worry and guilt. He wandered how he had caused such a beautiful creature so much stress. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but what words were stifled by a thick tongue and a dry throat, he had to take a breath and try to bring nonexistent saliva into his mouth to try again.

"Where... where am... where am I?" He managed at last, only to have a hand gently pat his head.

It was the older woman, smiling softly and gently. "Hush young man, you need rest."

He persisted, "Where... where am I?"

"You are in Ostagar," the younger answered, ignoring a frown of disapproval from the older woman.

"That is not important right now," the elder cut in patiently. "You need rest dear boy. All will be explained later."

"Yes," he agreed, his eyes drooping. "I... I need rest."

It took him a few moments before he fell back to sleep, his breath still shallow but better and steadier than it had been before. Wynne breathed a soft sigh of relief before turning a critical eye to Gwyneth, studying the girl and seeing that she had barely slept or ate since the end of the battle. "When he awakes make sure he eats and drinks. He will be weak for a time still so keep an eye on him."

"Yes, Senior Enchanter." Gwyneth replied, eyes lowered and head bowed as the older woman scrutinised her. It didn't matter if she was before her old teacher now or as a child barely learning the beginnings of magic. Wynne's gaze was always unsettling and attentive, as if she could see all of her secrets and faults at a glance.

"You need to look after yourself as well child," Wynne sighed at last, remembering telling her this multiple times at the Circle, when she lost herself in studying and learning. Knowledge may be the key to power and understanding, but not looking after oneself was just as ill-advised as living in ignorance. "Make sure you eat and sleep as well. The boy is not in any danger here, in his brothers own camp. He has a few thousand troops and a small army of servants to stand watch."

She flushed as the older woman's fussing, "I will, thank you Wynne."

Wynne studied her, remembering a little girl who was so shy and reserved in front of others but shone when a book was presented to her, a problem to solve and a question to answer. That was when this child shone. Yet here she was escaping the tower and sneaking into the camp, under the very noses of the Templar's, determined to do her part in the war effort and taking a liking to this young Noble.

"You must be careful child," she chastised softly. "Word has gotten through that you are no longer in the tower, and the Templar's are looking for you. I will not tell them where you are, for you are needed here, but once this is done and the young Warden is healed you _must_ turn yourself into the Templar's and allow them to take you back to the tower. I will help you where I can but you must promise me."

"I promise, Wynne." She replied, resisting the urge to gulp as fear gripped her. Fear of what the Templar's would do to her when she finally decided to succumb to her fate. She had heard plenty of scare stories of what they did to Mages who fled the Circle but were caught. "Once he is healed I will turn myself in, and accept their judgement."

Wynne nodded, "Very good, now I must head back to where I am needed. If anything happens to him that you are unable to deal with send someone to me. You know where I will be for the next few days, yes?"

"Yes." She acknowledged.

The Senior Enchanter watched her for a long moment, before turning and leaving the grand tent which was the centrepiece to the Teyrn of Highever's contingent. A portion of the camp which housed nearly a fifth of the entire army, nearly two thousand men strong, all of whom were loyal to the Cousland family. She passed by columns of men in drills and others huddled around campfires, checking their armour, sharpening their weapons, eating, drinking and sleeping. Living the lives of an army which was awaiting the next skirmish as a defensive force.

As she exited the camp she noticed a handful of Templar's, speaking in hushed and borderline aggressive tones to the Highever guardsmen protecting their portion of the camp. Undoubtedly these men were looking for Gwyneth, but because of the news of her aiding and protecting a member of the revered Cousland family the guards were not allowing them in. Even with the assistance of a Revered Mother they would allow no one else in unless their overall Commander willed it and he was still somewhere in the Wilds.

Wynne did not allow those thoughts to cloud her mind, and instead left the Highever camp, quietly and stealthily so that the arguing Templar's did not notice her. Her main priority was helping with the wounded and the dying in the field hospital up in the main ruins of Ostagar, and until that duty ends she would not allow her mind to be clouded with anything else, least of all the terrible news which was flooding through the camp.

* * *

When August awoke again his feelings of drowsiness and fatigue had lessened and he could keep his eyes open without an overwhelming need to close them. Slowly, painfully, he rose to a sitting position on his cot and surveyed the unfamiliar interior of a large tent. He reached up to massage his forehead, memories of what had happened in the tower swarming through his mind.

He immediately reached down and felt around his chest, the area where he could swear he was struck with a few black arrows. There was no pain, not even residual and as he pulled up his sweat stained undershirt he found nothing. No wounds, not even a scar, just smooth skin which looked even better than what he remembered. August frowned, his relief that he wasn't suffering from a life threatening wound replaced with bewilderment as to where it had gone.

A rustle from across the tent caught his attention, just as the flap was pushed aside and a familiar young woman entered, carrying a small bowl of water in one hand and a cloth in the other. The white hair, unnatural for one of her age, the brilliant blue eyes widening in surprise and then relief upon seeing him.

August concentrated, and then remembered. This was the Mage. The young Mage who had volunteered to go with him into the tower. She set the bowl and cloth onto an oaken table and then bowed to him, low and respectful. "Grey Warden. It is a relief to see that you are awake."

He allowed a smile to touch his lips, "Yes, the feeling of relief is mutual. Forgive me for asking this, considering how we have already fought side by side together but I never had the privilege of knowing your name."

She blushed, a small tint of red on her near perfect alabaster skin. "It is alright Ser Warden, with all of the commotion of battle. I am Gwyneth Amell, Mage of the Circle."

"Well met," August acknowledged with a nod. Just then remembering that she had introduced herself before the climb. "I am August Cousland."

"Yes, I know." Gwyneth replied, taking the towel and handing it to him. He took it gratefully and wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling a real need to change into fresh clothes.

That reminds him. "Where am I?"

"In the tent of the Teyrn of Highever." She replied, stepping back a couple of steps to give him some space. "When the battle ended a group of his soldiers came and carried you from the Wardens encampment to this one. They wouldn't take no for an answer."

He suppressed the need to chuckle at her words. The men-at-arms his brother took south were among the most loyal within the Teyrnir, so it wouldn't be surprising that they would come for him once word spread he was in the camp. He tried to remember how many they took, maybe two thousand men. Two thousand men he and Fergus could muster to march north and take back Highever from the traitor.

"What about the battle? How long was I unconscious?"

She looked nervous, but swallowed and began to answer. He had been unconscious for the last three days. He had been struck by some Darkspawn arrows, would have died if she wasn't there to stabilise him. He thanked her for that, noticing that she wasn't used to praise with how flushed she was. From there she and Alistair had managed to get him to another Mage named Wynne who had saved his life.

The battle had ended in a massive victory for their side. The moment the beacon had been lit Teyrn Loghain's force had successfully encircled and flanked the enemy horde, which was then crushed between his troops and the King's own forces. It had been an incredible victory, five thousand men and women broke the back of an enemy force three times their size, fifteen thousand strong at least and that was just a rough estimate. The bonfires to remove the monsters and their taint had been burning nonstop ever since.

It had been a heroic victory, a historic victory, worthy of feasts and celebrations, told in story and song for centuries to come. Sadly the battle would become historic for an entirely different reason. The King was dead, alongside Duncan and the Grey Wardens he had been adamant in fighting beside. The events which transpired were rife with rumour and speculation, but it was agreed that when the battle was all but won the Darkspawn surrounding the Wardens turned on them, washing over their positions like a black tide of death, killing everyone they found.

He didn't know whether to mourn for Duncan or curse his soul to the deepest pits of the Black City for eternity. On one hand the man had saved his life, pulled him from the burning wreckage of his home and taken him south. Yet on the other he had left his parents to die and conscripted him into the Grey Wardens. He had been calm and patient with him during their time on the road, answering his questions and keeping him occupied from his grief.

As for the King.

The ramifications would be immense. August knew this thanks to those little conversations he, Fergus and their father had about politics and gossip. A Landsmeet would need to be called, a new King chosen considering Cailan had been the last of his line and died without an heir. The dynastic struggle alone could lead to Civil War, then throwing in the continued Darkspawn presence here and that bastard Howe's rebellion in the North...

He suddenly had a tremendous headache.

"Ser Warden?" He looked up to see Gwyneth looking down at him worriedly, white bangs framing perfect skin. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he soothed after a moment, pushing his migraine to the side with a little effort and offering her a wan smile. "It looks like I owe two Mages my life. I would like to thank you again Gwyneth, and also for getting me up to speed on current events."

She flushed again at his praise, but this time managed to hide it with a bow of her head.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wanted to scoff at her, snap angrily at her, berate her, scream at her. Him, alright? His family was dead. His father's Teyrnir was in flames. He had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens against his will. He may be the last Grey Warden alive in Ferelden. His very life lay before him as ashes. How could he ever be alright ever again? He wouldn't take it out on her though, how could he do that to a person who had saved his life not once but twice?

"Is there any other news?" What of the other Grey Warden with us, Alistair?"

Her head snapped up, brilliant ethereal eyes watching him uncertainly. "There has been several issues since the end of the battle, Ser Warden."

His headache, finally forgotten, threatened to return. "Oh Maker help me. What's happened since then?"

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "There is tension within the camp. Teyrn Loghain has placed blame for the death of the King on the Grey Wardens. Your compatriot has been imprisoned in the Wardens tent under armed guard. They came for you as well but your brothers men refused to hand you over."

He blinked, bewilderment at what he had just heard slowly simmering into disbelief and then boiling into indignant anger. "By Andraste's perfectly shaped ass you have got to be joking!"

Gwyneth flinched away from his scathing glare. "I am afraid not Ser Warden."

His glare softened slightly, but his mind was still a whirlwind of disbelief and anger. Why would Teyrn Loghain blame the Wardens for the King's death? It was Cailan's own idea to fight on the frontlines like the Warrior-Kings from the old stories. He had seen Loghain and the King argue about it, alongside every high ranking noble and leader at the council meeting before the battle.

He threw off his bedcovers and jumped to his feet, successfully fighting off an intense wave of nausea as he threw off his sweat covered shirt, ignoring the sudden deep red blush of the Mage girl as he dug through his brothers chest and found a fresh set of underclothes. He and Fergus were roughly the same size so it should fit. He then found and began putting on his armour, buckling the breastplate, greaves and gauntlets with ease. Gwyneth had left the tent by the time he turned, but she was waiting outside as he exited, fastening his belt and sword onto his waist as he walked with purpose.

"Stay close to me." He ordered, and she hesitated for but a moment before following. The camp was bustling with activity, alert and coiled like a spring. He saw that his brothers soldiers were all fully armed and armoured, the standard and colours of Highever displayed with pride. Many were huddled in groups around campfires, cooking meat on spites, others were training and drilling in clearings.

One of the men saw him and immediately shouted. "Hail August Cousland of Highever!"

The roar was soon joined by many more voices, jubilant shouts from the men and women in his path which spread across the camp like wildfire. Those sitting around their fires stood up and paid attention, those drilling and practicing stopped and broke ranks to get a look at him. None stepped in his path.

"Lord August!"

A voice he recognised. He turned his head and felt a wave of relief to see Ser Bernard Nolan, one of his brothers trusted Knights whom he had taken down to Ostagar with him. The old man was, like all around them, fully armed and armoured. In his case a perfect set of Splintmail armour sans the helm, his longsword sheathed to his side.

"Lord August, it is a relief to see you awake."

"Ser Nolan," August greeted in return, clasping the man's wrist with his own in greeting.

"News has been trickling down from Highever My Lord," Nolan said as the two men fell into step. "It is a relief beyond measure to know that you have survived at the very least."

Grief knotted his innards, but he pushed it to the side. "What news have you heard?"

"The deaths of the Cousland family, the betrayal by that treasonous snake Arl Howe... we know little more than that My Lord." Nolan replied, his hand gripping the pommel of his sword tightly, metal laced fingers clinking. "It has hit the men hard your Lordship, the news of the deaths of your parents. Many of them are also worried about their own kin, many left families in Highever when they marched south."

He grimaced, berating himself as a fool to forget that it had not just been his family which had borne the brunt of Howe's treachery. He remembered seeing the bodies of guardsmen and servants scattered through the corridors, half dressed Knights caught by surprise and unarmed Elf and Human servants lying in pools of their own blood. Images of Orianna and Oren flashed through his mind, followed by another wave of grief. "How is Fergus taking the news?"

"Lord Fergus hasn't been seen since before the start of the battle." Nolan replied, face pained as August's head snapped up to him, eyes wide in sudden fear. His brother was missing? "He led a patrol of men out into the Wilds the day before the battle my Lord, and failed to return before or after. Even now I have men out there looking for him but at the moments our hopes are slim."

Fergus was missing. The dread which had settled in the pit of Augusts stomach came back full force, and another wave of nausea flashed through him like a bitingly cold wind. He stopped himself from staggering. No, not his brother. He had lost his father, his mother, Nan, Orianna, his nephew Oren and now likely his brother too. What had his family done that the Maker cursed them like this?

"My Lord." Nolan's calm voice seemed so far away, it seemed like a whisper until an armoured hand grabbed his arm firmly. His head snapped up to see the man's bearded features. August realised then and there that his breathing was quick and shallow, a fresh sheen of sweat on his brow. "My Lord, you have only just recovered, you need rest."

He looked the Knight right in the eye, taking a few deep breathes to steady himself. "I have rested for long enough."

"Your Lordship." Bernard lowered his eyes and removed his hand. "I apologise for my rudeness."

"You have nothing to apologise for," August almost snapped, knowing he couldn't afford to let the grief and sorrow consume him now. He needed to get his mind onto other things, things which couldn't be ignored. "Now do you have any information on this ridiculous accusation against the Grey Wardens."

Ser Nolan knew just as much as Gwyneth did. That soon after the battle Loghain had proclaimed that the Grey Wardens were held responsibility for the King's death. He had seized all of their belongings, ransacked their camp and ordered that all surviving Wardens be imprisoned pending an investigation. That they had also demanded that he be handed over had led to a tense standoff between the Gwaren and Highever contingents with the rest of the army caught in the middle.

August ground his teeth together. How dare the Teyrn pull such a stunt even after everything he and Alistair had been through in the tower. They had fought their way through hordes of Darkspawn, risked their lives to light the beacon and in return they get nothing but baseless accusations against their character and insults upon their honour. He had known of Loghain's dislike of foreigners, especially _Orlesians_ like Duncan, but he also believed the man to be wise and fair in his own rough and callous way.

How wrong he was.

At this moment all he wanted was someone to yell at, someone to threaten and take out his anger on. A good training dummy would be best, but only for his sword. Roaring and shouting at a vaguely human bag full of straw wouldn't look good for his mentality.

He wasn't disappointed when he reached the entrance to the Highever camp, where a heated argument was already well underway. A handful of men-at-arms wearing the colours of Gwaren were confronting the Highever guards at the entrance, lead by a woman he recognised as Loghain's trusted Lieutenant, Ser Cauthrien. He had seen a flash of her before, both when he visited Denerim and in the camp before battle, but up close she certainly was a handsome woman with dark auburn hair and equally dark eyes.

"I will repeat myself," She snarled openly at the guards. "Hand over August Cousland to our custody. He may have once been the son of your Teyrn but he is now a Grey Warden."

"The reply will be the same as before." One of the guards replied with forced patience, on the edge of snapping. "We will not give up our Lord, Grey Warden or not."

"That is not your decision to make," She shot back indignantly. "Only a Lord can make that decision, and with the loss of the rest of his family there is no one who can deny us."

"No one except me!" August interceded, standing between the Highever men and the Teyrn's Lieutenant, grasping at his lessons in etiquette taught to him by his parents. Shouting insults and making threats would do no good. "Until such a time as my brother has been found I will have little choice but to step in as Interim Teyrn of Highever."

Ser Cauthrien frowned at him, brow creasing as she studied him with piercing eyes. "I beg your pardon Lord August but I was under the impression that Grey Wardens were unable to hold positions of power."

"Yes, well, considering that I have been a Warden for all of twelve waking hours and my mentors are all either dead or imprisoned I feel that my duty is to my people and family at the moment." August replied. "Rest assured that once my brother has been found I will relinquish the title of Teyrn back to him."

"We all watch and pray for your brothers safe return," Ser Cauthrien bowed, her words well rehearsed in court diplomacy and half-hearted sympathy. "However you are aware of the current troubles concerning the Grey Wardens, whom you yourself are a member."

"I have been informed of current strains between your Teyrn and the Grey Wardens Ser Cauthrien, however if I may be frank I question his decisions at this crucial time." Was Loghain trying to caste blame on the Wardens for the King's death, a scapegoat to focus the armies anger and keep them together? It was the only option he could think off and with him still alive it could go in the opposite direction of what Loghain wanted. Unite the army, he could very well rip it apart. "Ser Cauthrien, I wish to speak to the Teyrn."

"Very well, if you will follow me I can escort you to-"

"No," August cut her off immediately with a wave of his hand. "With all due respect Ser Cauthrien I refuse to meet with the Teyrn in a place where all the advantages are with him, not after the ill news I have heard. I will meet the Teyrn on neutral ground, each of us able to bring a handful of guards."

She opened her mouth, as if to say or refute something, before closing it, brow creasing at the slight against his lords honour. "I will inform the Teyrn of your concerns Lord August, and will bring you his response."

"Please do," August replied with a nod.

Once they were back through the gates he was soon once again in step with Ser Nolan and Gwyneth. The veteran Knight eyeing him with the beginnings of a smile forming. "Well played My Lord."

Gwyneth frowned, "Forgive me, but what exactly did you do?"

Ser Nolan turned to regard her for a long moment, almost as if he hadn't noticed her until that moment. He turned a questioning look to August, who nodded his head. "Don't worry, she is with me."

He frowned, but nodded as he turned back to regard her, "As a Grey Warden he had little protection against the orders of Ser Cauthrien and Teyrn Loghain, and try as we may we can only hold them for so long. But by proclaiming himself as Interim Teyrn of Highever he has given himself some protection. It is within his rights to claim the title as he is the last Cousland. Teyrn Loghain cannot arrest a fellow Noble from outside of his influence, at least not without solid cause and support from the Bannorn."

Gwyneth frowned, "I think I understand. As a Grey Warden he can be ignored, imprisoned, forgotten... but as a Teyrn he would have the protection of Highever, her vassals and the troops here at Ostagar."

"Exactly," August nodded, turning to her with a smile. "You've got a good head on your shoulders."

"With all due respect My Lord the gamble will only work for so long, and in order to sort this out without ripping the army to pieces you're going to need more than bluff and position. Loghain is the best commander Ferelden has, and even if the Bannorn sides against him concerning you and the Wardens they will not be removing him from Command. We're going to need bargaining chips, and good ones."

That was the problem. August knew that even if he could convince the nobles in the army that the Wardens weren't responsible for the King's death and force Teyrn Loghain to back down he wouldn't be able to remove him from his position as Commander of the Army. He had too much support, both within the Bannorn and with the bulk of the troops, even his own men respected him and in truth even with these recent events August couldn't imagine anyone else leading the army.

That led to any future problem. Teyrn Loghain never forgot and was slow to forgive, one only needed to look at his opinion of the Orlesians so long after the war to see this. In order for him to continue a working relationship without it causing issue he needed bargaining chips, and good ones. The continued support of Highever would not be enough. He needed something more, something too tempting for the Teyrn to dismiss, something...

A smile crossed his face. "Don't worry about negotiations Ser Nolan, leave it to me."

The old man watched him closely, but nodded. "Yes, your Lordship."

* * *

The second he entered the tent his strength left him. He fell to a knee, his breathe coming and going in short gasps. Gwyneth was by his side in an instant, a hand on his back while the other was held in front of his chest, blazing with the soft blue light of magic. Under her gaze his breathing became less laboured and his fatigue lessened.

"Thank you." It was two words he was using a lot with her, but he meant it every time.

She did not smile this time, "You should still be resting Ser Warden. I understand how serious the situation is but you must think on your health as well."

He allowed her to help him to a chair and it was only then, that he realised that he hadn't had anything to eat for the last three days. At that thought another wave of nausea hit him, stronger than all the others. He couldn't believe how he didn't realise how hungry he was. He was starving. He hadn't felt this hungry in a long time, in fact he couldn't remember a time when he felt this hungry.

"Yes, perhaps I should rest." August allowed. "But first I think some food will be good."

"It would be good for you, yes." Gwyneth nodded her head.

The servants had been waiting inside, and one of them popped their heads into the tent when August called them. A young Elf whom he remembered from the Castle before Fergus marched south. "My Lord, it is pleasing to see you awake and well."

"Thank you, Temlen," August replied, offering a weak smile. "If it's possible would you be able to get some food together for me and my friend here. Don't worry about ceremony, just bring whatever can be spared."

"Off course my Lord, anything in particular?" the Elf asked.

"Wine," he replied. "And if you can't find wine then ale will do too."

"Yes my lord." Temlen bowed his head, and was gone leaving him and Gwyneth alone.

"Ser Warden, it is very kind of you to offer but I will be fine." She tried to protest.

"Nonsense," August dismissed. "I ask you to join me, as both thanks for saving my life and celebration of the victory. If you need a better excuse then I do not like eating alone."

She hesitated for but a moment, before smiling. "Very well, I will join you."

"Thank you."

While they waited for the food they took the time to talk, and August got to know his rescuer a little better. She had lived most of her life within the walls of the Circle Tower of Kinlock Hold, brought there from somewhere to the east when she was five years old. She had no memories of her parents, if she had any siblings or even where she was born. August couldn't comprehend that. Not knowing where or even who your parents were, even with memories of them bringing him anguish he would never wish he could forget his family.

When he asked about her life within the tower he got a lot more information. She spoke of the classes and the people and the huge library full of books, and how she would sit at a desk getting lost in their pages for hours and hours. She spoke of her fellow Apprentices and how she had become a Mage very recently, just before she headed south with those few Mages the Chantry allowed. She spoke of the other Mage, Wynne, and how she was Gwyneth's mentor and teacher.

"Would it be possible for me to meet her," August asked. "I would like to thank her in person for helping to save my life."

"I will see what I can do." Gwyneth agreed. "But she is very busy at the moment, with the amount of wounded in need of help."

"Whenever she can spare a moment, then."

It was then that Temlen and a few other servants returned, arms laden with bowls of food and jugs of wine. August saw crackers, cheese, slices of meat and bread placed before him and his hunger returned in intensity. He was just able to compose himself, thank the servants for their efforts and eat with at least a bit of restraint. He couldn't just give into his compulsions and dig in like a pig in front of his servants and guests.

While he ate his thoughts turned to his fellow Warden, undoubtedly locked up in some murky cellar. They had barely known each other a day and yet in that time they had fought side by side, back to back together at the steps of the tower. He knew you couldn't learn about someone after their first meeting but it felt like they had shared a lifetime of burdens together. He would need to secure his freedom from the Teyrn, that and return his belongings and those of his dead comrades. It was the respectful thing to do, and it would repay him, at least a little, for watching his back.

That was his main reason, but there were others. He knew absolutely nothing about being a Grey Warden, and as much as he would like he could not ignore it and move on with his life. His pride as a Cousland would not allow him to back away from a deal once struck. He had made that deal with Duncan, and he could kid himself in thinking he didn't have another choice but he did. He could have stayed behind and faced Howe's killers with his mother.

No, he would need a senior Warden to help him defeat the Darkspawn, because August knew nothing. He didn't know what abilities the drinking of Darkspawn blood gave him. He didn't know why Grey Wardens were so essential in ending the Blight. He didn't even know what assets they had in Ferelden or how he could get into contact with any others outside of the country. The Wardens had chapters all over Thedas from their seat of power in the Anderfells to the City-States of the Free Marches to the Empire of Orlais itself.

Alistair could help him with that and getting any documents or equipment from their camp would be even better. There must be information within the encampment. Correspondence from the Warden Chapters outside of Ferelden, from the First Warden of the Anderfells, from the varied Commanders of the Grey throughout Thedas. Not just that but there must be books and literature on the Grey Wardens within Duncan's personal effects, their customs, their strategies, their history and whatever else he could scrounge from ink and paper. He needed all of the information he could possibly get and more.

He sighed, chewing on another small slab of meat, and taking a long swig from his goblet of wine. Across from him Gwyneth ate at a more sedate pace, mainly slicing up the cheese and slathering it on crackers. She took a sip of her wine, face scrunching together followed by a half cough as she swallowed.

August smiled, "First time drinking wine, My Lady."

She looked at the half full goblet, eyeing the ruby red liquid within. "First time taking alcohol of any kind, Ser Warden."

"If you don't like it I can have the servants see about getting something else."

"No, Ser Warden, that is fine." She replied, shaking her head, and looking at the goblet one last time took a large gulp of wine. He suppressed a chuckle at seeing her eyes shut tight as she forced it down her throat.

"Don't force yourself." He smirked, just as another head popped into the tent. It was another one of his brothers Knights, a man younger than Ser Nolan but nonetheless trustworthy to both Highever and the Cousland family. He grappled with the names, finally remembering the younger man's name as Ser Richard Cartwright.

August was about to shout a greeting, but his voice was cut off by a familiar bark as a large muscular blur flew into the tent and slammed into him with all the power of a hurricane, throwing him off his chair and onto the ground with a clatter. He was about to raise his hands to defend himself when his face was assaulted by a long sloppy lick, followed by another.

"Hello Dagger, I missed you too."

His Mabari woofed in acknowledgement, maw wide open and tongue hanging from the side of his mouth, watching him with intelligent dark eyes. Across from him Gwyneth watched aghast, jumping to her feet and scanning the big war-hound with big worried blue eyes. Ser Cartwright on the other hand watched the spectacle with rapt amusement, being used to Dagger's overfriendly manner when it came to his master.

"My Lord, news has returned from Teyrn Loghain. He agrees to your terms and will meet with you at the top floor at the Tower of Ishal tomorrow morning." So the old Hero of the River Dane had accepted his request. That was good. It meant that he was open to reasoning and compromise. August may not be the best negotiator in his family, his father and Fergus always had a better silver tongue, but he considered himself passable.

"Thank you, Ser Cartwright," the young Cousland thanked, pushing Dagger out of the way and rising to his feet. He grabbed a spare goblet, poured some wine and handed it to the Knight. He refilled his own and then Gwyneth's, now calm but still surprised enough to make a face at her now refilled goblet. "Would the two of you join me in a toast. To victory in battle and for those who did not survive, let us not forget them."

"Let us not forget them," both Ser Cartwright and Gwyneth intoned before following his example and draining their goblets. He and Ser Cartwright doing it with ease born of practice while the poor Mage of the trio followed their example and ended up coughing and spluttering.

"Maker help me!" She intoned, and then placed a hand over her mouth in shock. The two men looked at her for a long moment, smiling and nodding in approval.

"Not bad, for a Mage." The Knight allowed.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Impstar, SomeGuy300 and Judy for the reviews._

 _I know that trying to include all of the origins will be quite a gamble, and it will make for quite a large cast but I am fairly hopeful I'll be able to get it right. To answer SomeGuy300's question as well I will have the other stories on hiatus until the muse get's going again, hopefully soon but you never know._

 _With this update I have written up to 6 chapters, and I will be updating every Friday. It is earlier than normal today because I'm going away for the weekend and I don't think I'll have much internet._

 _Enjoy the new chapter, and remember to leave a review if you have a question._


	3. The Treaties

_**Chapter 2**_

 _ **The Treaties**_

The Archdemon looked down at him, eyes which held a malevolent intelligence burning through his soul. It opened its maw, full of knife-like teeth and roared a challenge to him, a challenge which shook his bones.

And like that he was awake. August sat up in his cot, hand raised to massage his forehead as the memories of his nightmare faded back into his subconscious. More nightmares, more snarling Darkspawn and giant Dragons eyeing him like an ant to be stepped on.

Morning light slipped through the tent flap. The commotion of men shouting and going about their daily chores across the camp. At the base of his cot Dagger whined and stretched, the Mabari also awakening for the day as if sensing his masters return to the world.

He swivelled around, allowing his feet to settle on the ground before rising to his feet. He washed with a bowl of water and towel left by the servants earlier in the day, ate a quick meal of fruit and dried meat, tossing the odd slice over Daggers way as he dug in, and then dressed in his cleaned leather armour, clasping his sword and dagger onto his belt.

He needed to be ready for the day ahead, needed to be able to go toe to toe with Teyrn Loghain, convince him that the Grey Wardens could be an asset to the defence of Ferelden and not the threat he thinks they were. He needed to bring his attention not just to the Darkspawn and the Blight here but also the Rebellion in the North. If he was going to take back Highever for his family he would need the man's support and through him the support of the army.

Arl Rendon Howe could not be allowed to hold Highever more than absolutely necessary. He would not allow that snake to make himself at home in the halls of his family. Would not allow him to sleep in his parent's rooms and do whatever he liked to the people. The Couslands were popular and well liked in their home Teyrnir, and Howe's first priority would be pacifying those nobles and freeholders who opposed him.

Then there would be the effects on the people themselves...

The people.

He hesitated in tying his left greave, a cold chill running down his spine. How much of a fool he was, a damned fool. There were two thousand Highever men all around him, all with parents, siblings, friends and lovers right in the middle of the struggle at home. All waiting for news, confirmed news, as to what was happening at Highever.

He finished tying his greaves, called Dagger with a whistle and stalked through the tent flap into the open air of the camp. It wasn't long before he found one of the servants, who gapped and bowed upon seeing him. "My Lord."

"Alana," he greeted, seeing her blush at him remembering her name. "Could you gather the Servants together here but also inform the Knights and Commanders to gather as many of their men as they can. I must inform you all of what has happened at Highever."

"Yes, my Lord." She replied and was off in a flash, vanishing into the throng of controlled chaos all around her.

The senior servants were gathered very quickly, nearly a dozen Humans and Elves all together, responsible for the main force within the camp, whispering to each other and casting worried glances. They all calmed when he was amongst them, bows of respect were given to which he replied with a nod.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "You all know me, whether you were directly employed by my family or not. I arrived here barely a week ago with the Grey Warden known as Duncan. He was visiting Highever Castle, speaking to my father to try and gather volunteers to join the Wardens against the Blight. My brother Fergus had already travelled south and my father and Arl Howe were to follow, but were delayed because the Arl claimed it was taking more time to assemble his own troops than originally thought."

He took a breath, steadying himself and forcing his memories away from the fore. "Needless to say that he lied. After Fergus and the bulk of the army headed south he ordered his own men to attack. Howe's personal guard were already in the castle and turned on my family late in the night, killing anyone they found whether they were Cousland or not. My father was stabbed in the back by Howe, my mother and I found the bodies of my brother's wife Orianna and my nephew Oren."

Exclamations of shock came from the dozen servants, some of them were crying at the news. One of them, a young Elf maiden shook her head, tears flowing even as another moved to comfort her. "Oh no, not the little boy."

"Our guests Lady Landra, her son Lord Darien and their dignitaries were all murdered as well. Howe's men seemed to be determined to kill all who dwelt within the Castle, no one was safe. I found the bodies of our guardsmen, my father's personal retinue of Knights who stayed behind, my tutor, Nan the cook... no one was safe from their barbarism."

He stopped, seeing faces and pleading eyes full of desperate questions, and it hit him like a tidal wave that he had put this off for so long. He should have done this first instead of going to confront Loghain's men and Lady Cauthrien. Guilt seemed to mix in with his grief, barely contained beneath the surface.

"I didn't see many dead servants, and those I did I'm afraid I do not remember many of their faces, as it was such a chaotic dash to just stay alive. Our own plan was to escape through the servants entrance, and when we arrived we found my father there and the door ajar, so do not lose hope that many of them escaped. I will pray that they did. We fought our way through a good portion of the castle. "

"The Teyrna, what happened to the Teyrna?" An old human, Frankfurt, asked.

"The last I saw of my mother she had decided to remain behind with my father, and their last words to the Grey Warden were for him to take me and escape, so that there was someone who bore witness to Arl Howe and his treachery. He agreed and did so, despite my feelings on the-" August explained, hesitated to take another breathe of air and to calm himself. "There is no doubt in my mind that they are dead, slain by the madman and his thugs."

Gasps of shock and despair rose up from those in attendance, anguish was clearly evident on each and every face present. Even Dagger had been suitably cowed by the atmosphere, lying at his masters feet and whining in misery. Misery which was tearing into August like a rusty knife in the gut.

The soldiers took much longer to gather, the Knights and Captains and Sergeants, the men-at-arms. There were more men here than he could count, not the full two thousand but a good portion of them. He marched up the rickety timber steps, Dagger constantly by his side as he stood on a makeshift stage, surveying the force of armed Knights, officers and men-at-arms.

"Men and women of Highever, I salute you for the part you played in our victory against the Blight. Never again will those monsters and fiends forget the banners and standards of Highever!"

"Hail August Cousland of Highever!" One of the Knights roared.

"Hail!" the men and women responded, and repeated at least another half dozen times. Shouting and slamming their halberds and armoured feet against the ground creating a cacophony of noise. August waited, unable to help the smile which crossed his face at their support. He waited until the senior officers and nobles quietened their men and allowed him to continue.

"In the aftermath of such a monumental victory there should have been feasts and celebrations, stories of your heroism and bravery and remembrance for the dead do not deserve to be sullied by tales of woe. However I am afraid I have come with such a tale." The silence soon came, all small talk and mumbled conversation dying away to an eerie nothingness as they waited with baited breathe. "Rumours have already reached you of treachery and betrayal and it pains me to tell you all that these are not rumours, but the truth! Castle Highever has been sacked, the noble Cousland family, my family and your patrons, have been murdered in their very beds, in their very halls by a man whom we once considered our closest and best friend!"

He was forced to stop as a chorus of worried fear and outrage rose up from the crowd, hundreds of people calling out the names of their loved ones and friends, trying to see if August knew anything of what became of them. It took the officers some time to quieten them down, yet even within their ranks there were some shouting the same questions.

He rose his hand and slowly they quietened again, "I am sorry to tell you that I do not know much beyond what happened on the night. What I can confirm is that my father the Teyrn, and my mother the Teyrna, have been killed as have my sister-in-law and nephew. The perpetrator of this act, this foul deed, was Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine!"

Another cacophony followed, and the fear and worry were still prevalent, but another emotion had began settling into the crowd, ones of outrage and impatience but above all he saw the seeds of vengeance edging its way into them. The soldiers were not like the servants, who listened to the news in horror and shock that such an atrocity could occur. They were more used to violence, had tasted blood and were quicker to anger.

"What in the Maker's name are we waiting for!"

"Kill that bastard Howe and stick his head on a Pike!"

"Aye, we need to march on Highever at once!"

"We shall," he bellowed. "Upon my honour and before all of you I swear that we shall. When I arrived at Ostagar I made both the King and Teyrn Loghain aware of Howe's treachery, and we have been promised the full support of Ferelden to see it done. He will be made to pay for his crimes, this I swear."

They were all aware that the King was dead, but the addition of the Gwaren Teyrn's name despite the current tension seemed to bring their confidence back anew. Another great roar rent the morning air.

A horn blared, and one of the officers voices bellowed over the cheers. "All hail August Cousland of Highever!"

And they did hail him, several times. It was a loud resonance of sound united in a single chant. They did so, voices raised and echoing across their camp and into the surrounding area. August, on a base level, hoped that even Teyrn Loghain could hear it from his seat in the ruins of Ostagar fortress.

August chose that moment to descend the steps and back to solid ground, the officers already moving to dismiss and disperse the troops. Ser Nolan was waiting for him at the base of the steps, brow raised and a knowing smile in place. "Well by the Maker nothing changes. You are still the little troublemaker I remember."

August chuckled, "If I wasn't a rabble-rouser I'd be a lousy Nobleman."

"True." The old Knight shrugged as he fell into step beside August. "I have four Knights including myself and six men-at-arms ready to escort you. They are men that I trust and they will protect you."

August nodded, "Thank you Ser Nolan. Was Lady Amell escorted back to the Circle encampment safely?"

"Aye, had three men escort her back and explain the situation to the Templars. They weren't happy, but didn't kick up much of a fuss when we presented your signature." Nolan explained, his armoured hand absently scratching Dagger behind the ear as the Mabari wrestled between them. The war-hound obviously liked the attention, whining his approval.

"Good to hear, it would be very unfortunate if she were punished for catering to my selfish whims." August lamented.

"Saving your life couldn't be considered a selfish whim, surely."

"You'd think that, but to be honest I could have sent her back the moment I was well but I made her stay for a day or two because I enjoyed her company." August allowed, smiling a boyish smile. "Now that is selfish, don't you think."

He got a wry look from the old Knight. "She's pretty I'll admit, but also a Mage. I'd give it up boy."

"I'll take that under advisement."

* * *

Teyrn Loghain was as tall and imposing as he remembered, a middle-aged war hero with the physique to match. His shoulder length black hair with the first scant signs of grey. His piercing almost hawkish dark eyes. His sharp features beginning to crease with age. This was a man whose appearance was exactly what you would expect of someone with the title _Hero of the River Dane_.

He was also the man who had named the surviving Grey Wardens outlaws, imprisoned Alistair and was about to try the same to him. He had tried to think of a good reason for the Teyrn to attempt such a thing. Surely he had a good reason for his actions. Evidence that the Wardens were traitors, responsible for the death of the King. Or was this a diversionary tactic to try and boost morale and stop the army from splintering. Sometimes blaming someone was the easiest way to keep a mob together.

The Tower of Ishal had been thoroughly cleaned and cleared since the night he had fought within it. The walls had been scrubbed, the corpses removed and either set aside for burial or burned in one of the numerous bonfires surrounding the fortress. What furniture or possessions which could not be cleansed of the taint had been stripped down and used for kindling.

All that he saw as he and his retinue stalked through the corridors and up flights of steps were rows of empty rooms and charred stone floors.

The chamber at the very top of the tower, where the pyre had been a few nights before, had also undergone something of a transformation. The great fireplace was still there but empty of kindling. A huge mahogany table and two chairs were set out, one for the Teyrn and another for August. Ser Cauthrien remained behind and a little to her benefactors right, while Ser Nolan took the same position on his side. The other Knights and Guards remained at the far ends of the hall, within their respective camps.

Empty pleasantries were exchanged, though noticeably by their proxies and not by the two men themselves. Both August and Loghain were glaring at each other, sizing each other up for a duel of words.

"Teyrn Loghain," he began, his tone respectful. "My congratulations on your victory against the Darkspawn, and my condolences on the untimely death of the King. He will be sorely missed in this time of turmoil."

The Teyrn eyed him carefully, but if August expected diplomacy and tact with this man he knew he was only in store for disappointment. Father had once called Loghain Mac Tir as tactful as a battering ram and as blunt as a hammer. He was a warrior plain and simple. "You have called this meeting young Cousland, so shall we dispense with the pleasantries."

His father was right, as he always had been in life he continued to be so in death. August leaned forward, clasping his hands together and leaning on the table. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. "Very well, if you want me to be blunt then I will be blunt. You have won a great victory, though at cost and after the battle is won you have proclaimed the Grey Wardens as traitors and imprisoned our survivors. I would like to know why!"

Loghain watched him, his gaze slightly condescending. "Why you ask? The Grey Wardens failed to protect the King. He is dead. The country will be in anarchy and if not treated with care this victory will count for nothing."

"Truly?" August replied. "Treated with care you say? Come now Teyrn. The allegations are without substance and will not stand to scrutiny."

"Without substance?" Loghain repeated, scowling. "The King is dead."

"And so are the Grey Wardens who accompanied him." August countered, looking Loghain in the eye. "Let me be blunt. The death of the King is without doubt a tragedy, however you cannot possibly be implying that he was tricked or enthralled into accompanying the Grey Wardens into battle."

"And what if I am?" Loghain asked. August was beginning to suspect that he had a total of two to three expressions, angry, irritated and scowling. "Cailan was fascinated by the Wardens, and Duncan used that to his full advantage. If he hadn't have seduced Cailan with his stories and promises of grandeur then his death could have been avoided."

"Tell me, have you met him?" August asked, scowling. "Duncan I mean. I travelled with the man for just over a week. He saved my life and safeguarded me when Arl Howe sacked my family's home and murdered them to the last. He was my guide and confidante on the road, and he was more than forthcoming with his own opinions on the decisions of the King _and_ his council."

"Your point?" Loghain asked pointedly.

"Duncan informed me that if he could convince him he wouldn't have allowed Cailan onto the battlefield at all. He confided in me that he would rather have the King away from the battle but his own opinions were lost on him." August explained. "The King wanted to enter the fight, wanted to become like the old Warrior-King's from the stories and no one was going to convince him otherwise."

"Enough!" Loghain growled. "Cailan was fascinated by the Grey Wardens, to the point of excess. I will not allow his death to go without someone paying for it."

"If someone is going to pay for it then punish those who were _actually_ responsible for his death. Blame the Darkspawn, the ones who actually killed him alongside the Grey Wardens on the battlefield." August snapped in response, expecting more from the legendary Teyrn Loghain of Gwaren than throwing petty accusations of blame. "I am disappointed sir! When I met with the legendary Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, son of a freeholder turned warrior of Ferelden, Hero of the River Dane, Teyrn of Gwaren, friend to King Maric and Queen Rowan. A man I respected and admired since I was barely able to stand . To think that the man I admired so is without honour or common decency for the dead makes my stomach turn!"

"Watch your tongue boy!" Loghain roared.

"I will not," August roared in response, eyes filled with righteous anger. "To think that when I was a boy I emulated you, despite my father's misgivings me and my brother emulated you. I thought you honourable, a warrior deserving of respect and admiration yet now I feel cheated!"

Loghain glared angrily at him, yet he did not care. "Can you give me proof then that the Grey Wardens were not here to sabotage our war against the Blight and kill the King? Can you prove that this is even a Blight in the first place and not some scheme concocted by Orlais!?"

Mirthless laughter, "They were Grey Wardens. They're very existence was to fight and secure victory in the face of a Blight. It doesn't matter who their members are or where they were from. Whether they be common peasants or nobles. whether they were humans, elves or dwarves. Whether they were born in Ferelden, Orlais, Nevarra or the damned Tevinter Imperium itself. So long as they fought and ended a Blight they're affiliation or nationality beforehand does not matter. It means nothing!"

"Yet the King went into battle with an _Orlesian_ Warden and lost his life!"

"Duncan is dead too," August shot back. "From reports I have read he died avenging the King. He killed the Ogre which took the King's life before he was overwhelmed and slain himself. Twenty two Wardens followed the King in death and our numbers are now only two in all of Ferelden, and those two are rookie Wardens. A little bit of a pyrrhic victory for us wouldn't you say?"

"Even if what you say is true you yourself have brought the real problem to the fore. Your order is now made up of two Wardens. What can you possibly contribute to our struggle against the Blight?" Just as Loghain had thought. This young man may have been brought up as a nobleman, but he wore his heart on his sleeve. He started the show well, but keep at him for long enough and he would lose his temper, admirable but foolish. He was no diplomat.

"A Grey Warden is needed to end the Blight."

"Pure myth and legend," Loghain scoffed. "Did Duncan inform you as to why that is?"

"No, he did not," August replied. "A little difficult considering I became a Warden barely a few hours before the battle started."

"Then what can you do?" Loghain asked, folding his arms. "Even if what you say is true and the Wardens were not responsible for the death of the King what can two _Rookie_ Grey Wardens without support possibly help us against the Blight."

There it was, August saw. The truth of the matter. Loghain knew he couldn't make any claims against the conduct of the Grey Wardens stick, not when so many within the actual War Council saw how Cailan acted. It wasn't the Wardens enthralling him, because Duncan had tried to advise the King not to join the Wardens on the frontlines. Loghain knew this, so he used it as a cover. His argument would be that the surviving Wardens were too inexperienced to be of any real aide.

He suppressed a need to grin. Time to use his own cards.

"There is something actually, something only the Grey Wardens can do when facing a Blight," August began. "Just before the battle Duncan sent us Warden recruits into the Wilds with two objectives. The first I cannot divulge, for it contains trade secrets of our order, but the other objective was the acquisition of three scrolls, three ancient treaties of the Grey Wardens."

Loghain frowned, "Ancient treaties, with whom?"

"The Dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish Elves and the Mages of the Circle. Through these treaties they are obligated to aid the Grey Wardens when in the face of a Blight." August explained, glad he had cornered and badgered Duncan soon after the actually mission had been completed. He was adamantly sure that these treaties weren't simple pieces of parchment and he had been right. "Only Grey Wardens can call upon these factions and unite them."

"I will need proof of this boy." Loghain saw the benefit in this already, what half decent military commander wouldn't? He had five thousand men here at Ostagar, and that was the number before the battle. They were still trying to tally the dead. He had a thousand men marching from Redcliffe under the command of that unlikeable old goat Arl Eamon but no more would be forthcoming. Howe's rebellion in the north had deprived Ferelden on much needed manpower, so he had less than he originally hoped for.

But these treaties. If they were real then they could turn the tables and help him against this threat. Summoning the war host of the Dwarves of Orzammar, which was guessed at between five to seven thousand battle ready soldiers. Assembling the myriad hunters and warriors of the Elf clans of the Dales. Calling upon the hundred odd Mages of the Circle of Magi based in Kinlock Hold. With such a force he could hold Ostagar against any further Darkspawn incursion and safely protect Ferelden's borders.

"The treaties would be in the Wardens tent, unless your agents haven't burned their literature and correspondence already." August explained. "However if you want these treaties to be used I have a few conditions."

His thoughts were rudely interrupted, "Conditions?"

"Yes, conditions," August nodded, watching him with sharp eyes, as sharp as a Hawks. "First and foremost my fellow Grey Warden Alistair is to be released from whatever dungeon you threw him into and placed in my custody. The equipment and literature of the Grey Wardens are to be turned over to me. These silly accusations are to be dropped immediately, though I will not try and embarrass you with a public apology."

"Oh, is that all?" Loghain asked, a hint of dry bemusement in his tone.

"No, I have one more condition." August said with a wave of his hand. "Once I gather at least two of these allies and have them assemble here I want you to release the Highever contingent and allow them to march north to deal with Arl Howe's rebellion."

"Tell me. What is to stop me from simply taking these treaties and locking you up with your fellow Warden?" Loghain queried. Whether this was a bluff or not August couldn't tell.

"Only the Grey Wardens can enforce these treaties." August replied, himself grasping at straws. "Think about it. Do you truly believe that the Chantry would allow the Mages from their tower without the Wardens, or the Dalish Elves leave the safety of their forests for the hated Shemlen without a very good reason."

He didn't like to admit it, but the runt Cousland had a very good point. The Chantry seemed to take an intense pleasure in keeping the Mages under their thumb, and their rhetoric couldn't be more against the freedom of the Magi. Then there were the Elves, relations between Humans and the Dalish had never been cordial. The Dales hated the Humans for taking their homelands from them, given to them by Andraste herself, and the Humans viewed the Elves as forest dwelling raiders and thieves whose ancestors abandoned human cities to burn during the Second Blight.

The Teyrn watched him for a long moment, before a sigh escaped him. "I am aware of the situation in the north, and you have my condolences at what happened to your family. Rest assured that once our position here is secured we will be sending troops north to quell Howe's rebellion."

That caught him completely by surprise. Was it not the right thing to do? Sure. Was he expecting Loghain to react, especially after the recent events? No, he didn't. He was even prepared to threaten the desertion of his troops to deal with Howe alone, but deep down he knew it was a bluff. A Cousland's word is their bond, and his family had promised to aide Ferelden in this time of crisis. Yet it seemed that the Teyrn was at least reasonable in his plight.

"As to your demands concerning the Grey Wardens. I will release the Warden known as Alistair into your custody and the documents you will require as well pending validation by my own people." He allowed, his eyes growing hard. "However I do not believe that they were completely innocent in terms of dealings with Orlais."

"Duncan and his veterans are dead." August pointed out, allowing at least a little leeway. After all he would admit that he didn't know Duncan particularly well, and he didn't know enough about the Commander of the Grey about his other dealings. "Even if they were in secret dealings with external powers it is a mute point now."

"And you are sure this other Warden is not involved?" Loghain asked with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing.

"He became a Warden not long before I did, and Duncan himself admitted that he doesn't inform us of Warden secrets until after our first year. I can only guess that means any serious political correspondence or dealings with other nations." August explained.

Loghain closed his eyes, thinking for a long moment before rising to his feet. The meeting had obviously been concluded as far as the Teyrn was concerned. "Very well, I will allow this to play out. When can you be ready to begin."

"I will need a few days, to get provisions together and also to take care of the funeral arrangements of Duncan and the Wardens. They deserve a proper send off at least." August explained, noticing Loghain scowl but not refuse. "There is also the matter of my brother. He is still lost in the Wilds."

"I am aware of the status of your brother, and I have troops out looking for him alongside your own. If he is alive we will find him."

"Thank you."

The old man looked at him for a long moment, frowning before turning his back and stalking from the room, his troops and Knights following him. The moment he was out of sight August sagged into his chair, releasing a pent up breath he didn't even remember holding. "That went better than I expected."

* * *

"Cauthrien, search the Grey Warden camp from top to bottom, I want those treaties found." Ser Cauthrien bowed her head in compliance, turned on her heel and stalked from the room.

Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir waited until his trusted lieutenant was gone before walking around his heavy oaken table and took his seat, sagging into the wood and massaging his head with his right hand.

The last couple of days had been trying to say the least. The Blight had been dealt a serious blow at the very steps of this fortress. Their numbers had been massacred and the survivors scattered to the Wilds. His armies patrols had spent the last few days consolidating their losses and mopping up any surviving war-bands which were stupid enough to remain in the region.

The losses of the army were nothing compared to those suffered by their enemies but it was still more than he liked. Of the five thousand soldiers which made up the army they had two hundred eighteen dead, one hundred ten wounded and a further thirty seven missing. He had just shy of four thousand seven hundred battle ready men and women. There were roughly a thousand men marching south from Redcliffe who should arrive within the next few days. He needed to consolidate his position, fortify Ostagar, secure his supply routes, keep his troops well fed and prepared.

He also needed to keep morale up, for even with the victory his armies courage hung by a thread. He silently cursed that fool Cailan for ignoring all reasonable argument and fighting alongside his precious Grey Wardens. It would make for a riveting piece of history if he had lived, made him look like an utter fool now that he was dead.

Then there was the Grey Wardens. He had always had suspicions ever since Marric allowed them back into the country that they were simply puppets of Orlais, and this wasn't baseless conjecture either. Every Commander of the Grey in Ferelden since their re-admittance had been of Orlesian descent up to and including that soft spoken fool Duncan. He had dealings with Orlais, he was sure of it.

And now Duncan was dead, and good riddance to him. The only problem Loghain saw with the Orlesians death was that he took most of the other Wardens, many of them Ferelden born, with him. All that was left were two Wardens who hadn't been Wardens for very long, and after meeting with the young Cousland and questioning the bastard he was positive that whatever Duncan had planned wasn't shared with his new recruits.

That left his opinions of the Wardens. Alistair was something of a fool, but an honest fool. He knew nothing of Duncan's perceived dealings outside of the order, and took a deep offence to even the allegation that his now deceased superior was a traitor. He wore his heart on his sleeve and was a pitiful liar. But from what accounts he had gained from those who fought beside them Alistair was a good leader when forced into it and more than a capable warrior.

August Cousland on the other hand was not a fool. There was an intelligent head on those shoulders, an attention to detail with shrewd negotiating skills. He too didn't know anything of Duncan's potential double-dealings and had said much the same thing as what Alistair had said. That the former Warden-Commander didn't entrust Order secrets until after their first year. His weakness was his temper, though that was understandable given what had happened to him over the last week. A good fighter too, quick on his feet and a capable strategist in the thick of battle.

His original plan with them would not work. He had planned on incarcerating the two of them, though never with the intension of harming them. The heir of the Couslands and the bastard child of King Maric were too important to die in some blood stained field. He simply wished to discredit the Grey Wardens, remove their influence and after a time install one of the two as the new Commander. He didn't know much of Grey Warden politics, but he doubted they were as important to ending a Blight as they set themselves up to be.

News of potential treaties destroyed those plans. Just imagining these treaties being placed in effect brought a sting of excitement to the Teyrn. Calling upon and assembling the combined military forces of the Mages, Dwarves and Elves in sure-fire treaties that not even the Bannorn or the Chantry could challenge. The armies numbers would be doubled and their strength tripled at the very least.

First there were the Mages. loghain had always felt that the Chantry's control over them was excessive and unnecessary, sure there was the threat of demons from the Fade but he doubted such possession was as commonplace as the Chantry insisted. The Mages themselves would be indispensible to any army, their battle and healing skills alone were impressive from what he had seen so far of the small number sent to Ostagar. More Mages to aide in healing the wounded, more Mages capable of fighting the Darkspawn with fire and lightning and rock and ice. If the Teyrn had his way there would be a Mage assigned to every Company of the army.

Then there were the Dwarves of Orzammar. The Dwarves had been fighting the Darkspawn constantly since the First Blight so many centuries ago. If there was one race in all of Thedas best capable to combating the abominations and monsters from the depths of the earth it was the Dwarves. The rough estimates of the size of their army was around five thousand warriors, and that didn't include the Legion of the Dead. There was also the amount of knowledge they could bring with them, maps of the Deep Roads, tactics against the Darkspawn and superior siege engines such as Ballista, Catapults and Trebuchets.

Finally there were the Dalish Elves. There was no way to tell how many of them could be mustered even if the treaty was enforced, but his own intelligence suggested roughly two dozen of their clans were camped within the protection of the huge Brecilian Forest to the east. Their warriors may not be as strong as their human or Dwarf counterparts but their strength lay in their speed and precision in battle. Elves were impressive scouts, superior archers and skilled skirmishers. Loghain remembered the handful of Dalish he had recruited during the War against the Orlesians, how their reports and scouting had saved his skin on several occasions.

If these treaties existed, and that upstart of a Cousland managed to gather them then he could spare troops to march north and deal with the rebellious Rendon Howe. Gathering volunteers for such a march would be no trouble, the two thousand strong force from Highever were no doubt baying for the blood of the traitors. If the numbers were correct he could probably even spare troops from other contingents.

Honestly he couldn't understand why Howe did what he did. Those times he had met with the Arl of Amaranthine he had seen a shrewd and intelligent man whose loyalty to his overlords and the country itself was absolute. It seemed his intuition as to a man's character was getting rusty. Then again when it came to nobles Loghain rarely met anyone he liked.

That left him with a potential dynastic crisis to deal with, wonderful. He knew he should be mourning Cailan's death, considering he had helped raise him and knew him since he was born, but at the moment all he could think of was the fact that the King was dead and he died childless. With his death the line of Theirin was now extinct.

A Landsmeet needed to be called, a new family needed to be elected by the Bannorn and ascended to the throne of Ferelden. His daughters own claim was tenuous at best, being a Theirin by marriage and not blood and without a child by Cailan there was no way she would be able to hold onto the throne without a bloody battle.

The most obvious choices would have been the Couslands, with their close blood relations to the line of Calenhad and general popularity. Arl Howe's massacre of that prestigious family, as well as the disappearance of the eldest son in the Wilds and the conscription of the younger child into the Grey Wardens had thrown that whole plan out the window. If Fergus survived and was found circumstances may change but until then the next best choice was as extinct as the Theirin's themselves.

Who else had the bloodline to become royalty. There were the Guerrin's and their relation to the Theirin's through Marric's marriage to Rowan but Loghain would be damned to the Gates of the Black City before he allowed that old schemer Eamon take the throne. There were also the Wulff and Bryland families, who he could work with, and to a lesser extent the Kendells, who he wouldn't trust with a freehold.

Then there was the possibility of outside interference from other nations, especially Orlais. The chance of invading and occupying Ferelden, considered little more than a rebellious province to them, when it was leaderless and in chaos may be too good an opportunity for the Empress to pass up.

An invasion by the Chevaliers with the pretext of protecting a neighbour against the Blight may be as imminent as the Darkspawn. It would be a repeat of the Orlesian invasion nearly a century before. They would enter the country under the premise of aiding it's rulers, refusing to leave, taking over the Bannorn and installing their own puppets. Ferelden would be under the Orlesian yolk once again.

Ferelden would never become an Orlesian possession ever again. Loghain would never allow that to happen, not while he drew breath.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Impstar and Judy for the reviews. Hope everybody enjoyed the latest chapter and if you have any questions let me know, if you like it leave a review._


	4. Greetings from the Witch

_**Chapter 3**_

 _ **Greetings from the Witch**_

Alistair looked better than August originally thought. Sure he looked like he hadn't slept in several days with dark bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes. August didn't blame him, considering in three days he had lost all of his comrades in arms and was locked up in the aftermath. Some of the tiredness faded when he saw his fellow Warden but it was barely noticeable.

August looked the elder Warden over with a critical eye. "You look terrible."

Alistair blinked, and allowed a slightly strangled chuckle. "You don't look so good yourself."

The two men shared a smile and clasped each other's forearms in greeting. August allowing a lopsided grin and a deep throaty chuckle. The two of them barely knew each other little more than half a week, yet in their waking hours together they had shared in enough adventure to last most gentle folk a lifetime. August was still of divided opinion on Duncan, but he had no doubts as to the character of the man standing before him.

"Hungry?" He asked at last.

"Famished." Alistair replied.

They entered his brothers tent, where food and drink had been prepared for them. The servants had scoured the length and breadth of Highever camp for whatever scraps they could find and it all came together to create a more than adequate feast. August saw platters of cheese, fruit, vegetables, chunks of meat and jugs full of Ale.

"Snazzy place." Alistair remarked, looking around, mildly uncomfortable.

"My brother's tent." August replied as he marched over to the table, already filling his plate with the assortment of foods. He had barely eaten a few hours ago and yet he was already starving. A meeting with a walking monolith like Teyrn Loghain could do that to a person he supposed. Alistair walked over awkwardly, his own stomach quietly letting him know of his hunger. He piled his own plate high and took the seat across from August.

"That's right. I keep forgetting that you're a Cousland." the young man remarked, grabbing a large piece of pork and stuffing it fully into his mouth. "Where is your brother?"

"Missing in the Wilds."

He stopped chewing, eyes widening slightly. "Oh."

"We've got people looking for him," August tried to sound sure and confident, but it came to his ears as hollow words. He knew that the chances of Fergus coming out of that hell of a swamp alive was growing slimmer by the hour and it had been at least four days since he went missing. "If anyone can survive a Blight it's my brother."

He grabbed an apple and bit down, an explosion of wet sweetness throwing him from his morose thoughts. "So how did you get me out?"

"I did what any decent Noble did. I took part in fruitful negotiations with my opponent, adding in a healthy amount of threats and compromise. It seemed to do the trick." August replied, looking Alistair over. "They didn't do anything to you did they?"

Alistair shook his head, "They piled a lot of questions and taunts on me, and Loghain himself came down to ask the important ones in person. I can't believe what they're trying to do. Blame Duncan and the Wardens for King Cailan's death, as if they enthralled him to lead the diversion against his will. There was even talk that Duncan was a traitor and in league with the Orlesians. Maker help me what a load of shit."

"Yeah, I told Loghain that... in more elegant wording though." August said, stabbing another slice of pork with his knife and biting into it. The meat was cold but it was far from inedible. "I suppose I should get you appraised on what is happening."

Alistair just looked tired and haggard, but he leaned back in his chair and looked August right in the eye. "Go ahead."

"Well most of this is speculation, based on my own opinions and my meeting with Loghain," August began, grabbing a jug of Ale and pouring the amber liquid into his tankard until it was almost full to the brim. He had a feeling he was going to need quite a bit of this tonight. "I believe Loghain's original plan was to use us and the Wardens as scapegoats, at least temporarily, to try and boost the morale of the army."

"That sounds like the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Alistair growled, but upon seeing August's glare he threw up his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean your idea, in fact I can see Loghain doing it, but I don't see why he needs a scapegoat. Cailan died in a battle he volunteered for."

"Which is why it won't hold, however think of it this way. The armies courage hangs on the edge of a knife. The death of their King has hit them just as hard as the victory over the Darkspawn has boosted them. Loghain is trying to turn this around by giving them someone to target, turning their fear into anger, something that was hastily decided and he is now regretting."

It was true, a lot of soldiers, especially those who fought in the King's diversionary force and those in the tower will know it to be false. They had seen the Grey Wardens fight as ferociously as anyone else on the field against the enemies of Ferelden. Loghain had made a mistake, and he knew it. It would explain why the meeting had been so fast and had ended so well for their side. The Teyrn would never openly admit it or apologise for it, and he would try and keep the farce of an investigation going for a while to save face but overall August suspected they wouldn't hear much more of it.

"I managed to convince him that it would be a better idea to keep the Grey Wardens on as an ally than try and vilify us as the enemy. It took a little convincing, but with you and me sitting here I think it was a success." August continued. "In return for him allowing you into my custody-"

"Custody?" Alistair almost choked on his pork, but was stopped from arguing by August's raised hand.

"Yes, for now custody. In return for that, as well as returning all of the documents and equipment from the Grey Warden camp into Grey Warden hands and exonerating us from any charges I had to show him the treaties we picked up in the Wilds. Don't give me that look Alistair. You knew that we would be using them to call up allies against the Blight eventually."

"I did, but to help him!"

"To help Ferelden," August countered, and the elder Warden winced. He certainly wasn't the type of man you could trust in negotiations or even gambling. "We may not like him but Teyrn Loghain is the best military commander Ferelden has and there is no one else good enough to replace him. He is skilled, experienced and has too much influence to be replaced by a couple of junior Wardens. In order to save this country and stop the Blight we will need him and we will need his army. He will keep the Darkspawn occupied here at Ostagar while you and me use the treaties to muster the Mages, Elves and Dwarves."

"But you can't expect me to trust him. Not after what he said, not after what he _did_!" Alistair asked in very real outrage.

"I don't, because I don't trust him either." August replied, eyes hard as iron. "But we have little choice right now. We are two junior Wardens with the nearest Grey Warden outpost hundreds of miles away. The only things keeping us from being locked up for conveniences sake is my family name and these treaties. If we want to continue and not end up in Fort Draken we're going to need to prove that we can be useful against the Blight."

Alistair opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked down at the table, tired and defeated, and in angry retribution he used his knife to skewer a piece of port and toss it into his mouth, chewing viciously. August sighed, grabbing his tankard and downing the Ale with several deep gulps. He gasped for air when he finished, slammed the tankard onto the table and refilled it. Silence descended as the Wardens ate voraciously, taking out their anger and irritation on the food.

"By the way," August ground out, his mouth full as he downed another huge gulp of air. "You have some explaining to do."

"For what?" Alistair asked, shovelling crackers slathered with cheese into his mouth.

"About the Grey Wardens." August answered. "I know we're supposed to be some kind of non-dispensable weapon against the Darkspawn and the Blight but for the Maker's sake I have no idea why or how. What powers do we gain from that ritual? What are the side-effects? How can a Grey Warden be the only one to slay an Archdemon? How in the name of the Black City can you _slay_ an Archdemon!?"

"I can answer the first. I can answer the second... but I can't answer the third or fourth." Alistair replied, allowing a nervous smile caked with food crumbs. "Sorry."

"I knew it." August grunted under his breath. Finishing off a scone. Hungry, even starving didn't come close to how he was feeling at this moment, no ravenous sounded more truthful. "So you haven't been a Warden for longer than a year either huh?"

"More or less," Alistair shrugged.

"So _what_ can you tell me?" August asked.

"Well we can sense Darkspawn." The former Templar-Recruit began.

"That makes sense, I suppose." August allowed.

"Yeah we can sense Darkspawn and they can sense us. I think it has something to do with us managing to survive the joining. They are a part of us now as we are of them." Alistair hesitated, seeing the borderline horrified expression on the Cousland boys face at the news. August had expected to hear a bad truth or two, and he supposed when thinking rationally what Alistair said was to be expected. It didn't help how he was feeling at this moment though.

Then there was the by far more horrifying theory in his mind. "Oh Maker preserve us."

"It's not so bad." Alistair tried to placate.

"Think about it for a minute Alistair. You said it yourself that we can sense the Darkspawn but chances are they can sense us as well. It works both ways." If Darkspawn can sense Wardens as well, at least within close proximity then they would swarm to that location, especially when the odds went against them. When losing a battle against a merciless foe it was better to take as many important enemies with you as you could.

For a moment the other Warden looked own, frowning, then it hit him. It hit him like a battering ram. "Oh Maker."

"I think it's a safe bet that we're going to need to be more careful when dealing with Darkspawn, wouldn't you agree?" August asked, and Alistair agreed with a nod. "So what else can you tell me?"

"Don't expect to get a good night's sleep from now on," Alistair continued, now suitably sobered. "Nightmares are a side effect of the joining, but at the same time they aren't just nightmares. We're now able to see the Fade as it really is, or we're dreaming alongside the Darkspawn and the Archdemon. It's how we know that this is a Blight."

August groaned inwardly, and here he was hoping that the nightmares of demonic fire breathing dragons and jabbering Darkspawn was just the aftermath of the battle, and the near death experience that followed. It turned out that the truth was worse. "Can it ever be controlled?"

"Some of the older Wardens said that they can. Given enough time and experience you can learn to block the visions out... other's go the opposite way and can tell you that they can hear what the Archdemon is thinking when they dream." Alistair explained. So if he lived long enough he'll learn to block them out, August would definitely be the type of Warden to prefer the former from the latter.

Still there was some humour in his memories from the Fade. August allowed a sardonic smile, "He obviously wasn't very happy that we thrashed his army."

"Glad to see we're off the same opinion." Alistair agreed. "And what else... of yeah. We're needed to stop the Blight."

"How?" he asked.

"Don't know," he replied, seeing the Cousland's eyes narrowing in response he placed his hands up in a sign of peace. "I'm being truthful there. I'm literally telling you everything I know, which isn't much. Duncan said that there was a lot of information withheld from Warden recruits until after they've survived their first year."

Just as Duncan had told him soon before the joining, "What else?"

"We have huge appetites," Alistair continued, grabbing a chicken leg and taking a bite, maybe for extra emphasis. "The joining speeds up our metabolism. We are faster, stronger and more durable than regular humans, but the turnaround is that we have to eat more than they do to keep going, maybe three times more... alcohol doesn't affect us nearly as bad either, though we can still get drunk."

August looked dubiously at his empty fifth tankard of Ale. Now that explained a lot. He didn't feel nearly as inebriated as he would have liked, maybe Dwarven Ale would do the trick. He had heard it was stronger than most human brews. So the joining allowed them to sense Darkspawn, but it was a double-edged sword. It gave them nightmares, made them look like drunks and gluttons and in exchange they were stronger, faster and more durable than your run-of-the-mill soldier.

Still looking at Alistair August could tell that he wasn't finished, and to tell the truth the young Cousland was really considering not wanting to know the rest. His stupid sense of knowledge seeking won through though. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah, don't expect to live a long life or to die of natural causes."

"You just save the best for last don't you?" August asked with more than a hint of sarcasm, massaging his temple. "Let me guess the joining isn't a cure?"

"You're right about that. The joining doesn't cure you of the taint, but it does slow it down. The usually life expectancy of a Grey Warden is about thirty years if you're not horrifically dismembered. After that you go through an event known as the calling, and go down into the Deep Roads for a final battle against the Darkspawn. You kill as many as you can before they kill you."

If he didn't want to harm Duncan before he was sorely wishing he could now. It would have been nice for the arrogant Ferelden born Orlesian bastard to at least inform him of the risks and side effects involved in becoming a Grey Warden. They had been travelling for a week together you would think they would have talked about it, especially considering the man's determination to make him into a Grey Warden.

Calm down, he had thirty years and if he had stayed in the Castle the chances of him living that long would have been very, very, _very_ slim. That was something he supposed, thirty years meant that he would at least reach fifty before he died.

"Don't expect to have children either."

It took a moment for that particular bit of information to sink in. "Pardon?"

Alistair hadn't seen the storm brewing in his dark eyes yet, so the poor gullible fool just continued digging his own grave. "Grey Wardens having children is considered rare. It's not unheard off mind but few people sire children once they become... a Grey... Warden."

The glare August was throwing his way hit him with all the force of a bashing shield. August glared, deciding that instead of hurting Duncan he would bring him back to life and then kill him again with his bare hands. He suddenly wished even more for his brother to be alive and well out in the Wilds, considering with his own chances of siring an heir for House Cousland dead it was all up to him. He and Fergus were the last known survivors of the family, and little Oren was dead in Castle Highever. If both died childless their bloodline would be as dead as the Theirin's. It wasn't a sure thing mind, Alistair said it wasn't unheard of for Wardens to have children but he still didn't like his chances.

He shouldn't take his anger out on Alistair either, so with several deep breathes to calm himself down he plastered a smile on his face and downed the rest of his Ale. He didn't bother pouring it into his tankard this time, but took the half full jug and downed it with several deep gulps.

"August, are you alright?" Alistair asked, frowning and worried.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, keeping his fake smile in place. "It's just a surprise is all."

He wasn't convinced, but August was suddenly too tired and too sore to answer anymore of his questions but with a couple of words. He just wanted to eat his fill, which was probably everything on this table, crawl into his cot and close his eyes. Who knows, maybe when he woke up he would be in Highever Castle and all of this was nothing more than a bad dream.

He knew that wasn't possible, but it was nice to dream.

He was shaken awake from his thoughts by Alistair, who raised his own voice a few decibels to be heard. He looked over at his fellow Grey Warden, blinking. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"No, I'm not but I'll manage." August replied, rising from his seat. "Get some rest Alistair. You look like you could use it. Once your awake I'll see about gathering the bodies of the Wardens together and we'll give them a proper burial."

Mention of his departed comrades made Alistair more pliable to his requests, and it wasn't long before he did turn in for the day leaving August alone with his thoughts, for which he was grateful. It was late in the afternoon, and he had a lot on his mind, both from his recent escapades with the Teyrn and the hard truths Alistair had told him about.

After a long moment of silent thought, and what was left of the Ale he called in one of the servants and asked for more wine. Mother would berate him, he knew, if she were still alive. Your issues cannot be mended by looking at the bottom of a recently emptied tankard, but his mother wasn't here and by the Maker he needed to try and forget that painful fact.

* * *

"My Lord August!"

August awoke with a pounding headache, immediately regretting his consumption of alcohol the night before and looked to the entrance of his tent with bleary, slightly bloodshot eyes. It was one of the men-at-arms, he remembered that his name was Gerard. "Yes."

"Someone has asked for your presence milord," Gerard said, frowning. "A woman came from the Wilds and asked for you by name."

A woman from the Wilds? That could mean either one of two women, and he doubted it was the elder one. "What did she look like? Good looking but slightly underdressed?"

"Well, yes milord." The guard nodded his head.

Damn, so it was Morrigan. He really didn't have the patience to the condescending snarky attitude of a Witch of the Wilds. Then again she had helped them find the treaties which were so important in their negotiations with Loghain, and she had let them leave alive from her mother's hut. He owed her enough to hear what she had to say. He got out of his cot, splashed some cold water on his face and got dressed in his leather armour. Alistair was still sound asleep in his cot, brought in by servants before his arrival, and August didn't have the heart to wake him.

Gerard led the way for him, out of the Highever camp and through the Ostagar fortress, across the bridge and past the Tower of Ishal to the front entrance and the deeply used dirt track. There she was, standing a little away from a couple of guards and eyeing them carefully, as if they would turn on her at a moment's notice. Morrigan was still a beautiful creature, with her short dark hair, unnatural amber eyes and pretty features. The clothes she wore, if they could be called that, didn't leave much to the imagination and more than one guard kept a closer eye on her than was comfortable.

"Lady Morrigan," he greeted, nodding to her.

She looked over to him, a small smirk growing. "Ah, Tis good to see you alive and well."

"As it is to see you." August replied. "What brings you here to Ostagar?"

"Mother sent me, delivering a message which would be of great boon to you." the Witch replied. "We have found a man, lost, wounded and alone in the Wilds. He managed to inform us that he was a Cousland before he lost consciousness. Mother is tending to him as we speak and asked me to inform you."

His breath caught in his throat at the news. Fergus, they must have found his brother. There was no one else here who could boast to being a Cousland. It had to be him. "I see, and would he be with your mother now?"

Morrigan nodded, that infamous smirk and mischievous glimmer still very much in place, "Tis correct yes. I have been sent here to take you to him."

Fergus was alive. The first piece of good news he had heard since coming here to Ostagar. His brother was alive, Fergus was alive. "This is good news indeed, I thank you milady Morrigan for you and your mothers help in finding my brother. If I may ask how bad are his injuries?"

"He is unconscious for the most part, predictable considering his wounds but mother is certain he will pull through." She answered, more than a little surprised at his praise in her and her mother. "I did very little, mother was the one who found and preserved him."

"I thank you all the same, milady." August continued, meaning every word. It was the best news he could hope to hear. "If you would give me a moment. I need to assemble some men and perhaps a cart to help transport him. He needs to be returned to Ostagar and into our care."

Morrigan nodded, "Mother advised you would ask this. Do what you must, I will wait here."

It didn't take long to assemble a half dozen men-at-arms, a cart and a donkey to carry it to the gates and with Morrigan as their guide they entered the Wilds. The men marched in two by three, armour shining, swords in their sheathes, halberds and shields in their hands as they followed him who followed Morrigan, the cart protected in the middle of the column.

The Witch didn't lead them through the well used dirt paths, but took them through the rocky route into the Wilds. Darkspawn bands were still battling with the armies skirmishers so August didn't see much issue with being covert. They only encountered a small band of half a dozen of them on the route, spread out and unawares, easily surprised and just as easily killed by him and his party.

Soon they came to the hut of the Witch of the Wilds, the legendary sorceress known as Flemeth. She was waiting for them when they arrived, and just like last time she didn't look like a powerful Mage but an eccentric old woman, living in the wilderness to escape civilisation and to protect herself and her daughter.

"Ah greeting Grey Warden, so good of you to come and to come so quickly." the old woman crooned, looking to her daughter as she led them across the land bridge separating two puddles of water. Yes her hut was well protected August saw, last time he was too impatient in getting the treaties and getting back to camp but now that he was back and not in such a hurry he could see why she had made her home here.

The hut was built against a large curving hill, concealing it on at least three sides and on the other side it was protected by a small lake with a very slim bridge of earth separating it from the rest of the Wilds. An easy place to protect for someone whose powers were as legendary as Flemeth's if one did not take into account her own ability to use magic as a means of stealth and concealment.

Unless someone was looking for her she would not be found.

"Greetings milady," August returned, bowing his head. "I hear you and your daughter have done my family a great service, finding and caring for my brother."

"Yes, your brother is within my hut and recovering from his wounds."

"May I see him?"

"You may."

He entered the hut without any further preamble and found his brother lying in a cot at the back, upon seeing him be breathed a sigh of relief. Yes it was his brother, he would recognise Fergus even if they shaved his head bald and tried to pass him off as a barbarian of the Wilds. He laid in the cot asleep and unmoving, a bandage wrapped tightly around his head but whatever other injuries he had were hidden by the blanket which covered him.

Morrigan entered after a few moments, and upon seeing his worried expression smirked. "He is still unconscious, when mother found him he had taken a bad knock to the head. With time and will on his part he should recover."

He breathed another shaky sigh, a bit of hope returning to him, which now seemed foreign after what he had been through. He owed Morrigan and her mother much for this service. "Thank you."

His thanks surprised her yet again, as if she expected no thanks or gratitude for aiding in saving his brother's life. "You are welcome, I suppose."

"Is it safe to move him?" August asked.

"Mother says it is." Morrigan replied. "He is out of any real danger. Tis now up to him and him alone."

"Then we have nothing to worry about," He replied with a chuckle. "When Fergus faces a challenge he usually triumphs over it."

His assembled men managed to carry him from the hut onto the cart, carefully and with great concern. It wasn't long before his brother was resting at least semi-comfortably on the straw of the cart and August already considered calling upon the services of the Mages in Ostagar to help with his recovery. If it was Gwyneth or her mentor Wynne then all the better. He knew Gwyneth and she spoke highly of Wynne's ability.

"Warden, a word with you if I may." Flemeth asked, walking away from his men and the hut. August hesitated, frowning at her retreating back before following. It wasn't long before they were on a patch of marshland, away from the hut and his troops. It was just him and the fabled Flemeth of the Wilds. More than a little intimidating he would admit.

"How might I help you, milady?"

"You are going to fight this Blight, use the treaties and assemble an army to stop it." Flemeth asked, eyes intense and stoic as they watched him. August felt like a child before a calculating parent, a parent who didn't have much patience for a reply. "Speak up boy."

"I am." August replied, a little testily. The woman may have aided him by protecting the treaties and saving his brother's life but he wouldn't go as far to say that he trusted her. Quite the opposite. He had heard the stories surrounding Flemeth, the immortal Witch of the Wilds and knew that everything she did usually had some kind of benefit for her. The end of the Blight, so close to her doorstep, was the most obvious boon. "Everyone needs to stand united against the Blight. I shall go to the Mages, the Elves and the Dwarves. The Teyrn of Gwaren knows of my plans, and supports them."

"Ah yes, the much boasted Hero of the River Dane." Flemeth laughed. "I remember meeting him once before, such an obstinate, rude and humourless fellow. Tell me has he changed at all since the rebellion?"

So Flemeth had met Loghain before, interesting. "Well I would agree that he lacks a sense of humour."

"Among other things," Flemeth allowed, smiling herself when she saw a hint of sarcasm within the young man. "A word of the wise young Warden, watch yourself around that man. He only has one great love, and it isn't a creature of flesh and blood. To protect what he holds dear he will not hesitate to sacrifice anything, even himself."

He knew this already, with his half hearted attempt to remove them from the fold after the battle. "I will take your words to heart, madam."

"Good, but I have another request," the elderly woman continued. "I would like you to take my daughter along with you."

A moment of silence, he blinked. "Huh?"

"Not the sharpest tool, are you boy?" Flemeth asked with a raised brow.

He scowled, "Why would you want me to take your daughter?"

"I didn't think you to be so picky, after all Grey Wardens take help wherever they can find it, especially during a Blight. Has that changed since the last time I ventured from this place?" She asked, a hint of condescension in her voice.

"That's not what I meant," August countered with a wave of his hand. "This isn't going to be some calm little sojourn to new lands. This is going to be dangerous."

"Hah," the woman crooned. "My little Morrigan isn't some helpless little court Lady or an isolated Tower Mage. She is a talented Mage capable of ancient and powerful Magic. She is more than capable of looking after herself young Warden, and even with that victory over the Darkspawn you will need all the help you can get."

He couldn't argue with that. If Morrigan was even half as gifted as her mother led him to believe then he would be more than happy to have a Mage by his side. He had seen how strong and useful Mages can be, fighting side by side with them at the tower and this old woman was volunteering one to accompany him on this mission. "I would be more than happy to take you up on your offer."

She smiled, "Good, good. Come along then boy."

"Does Morrigan know about this?" He asked, but didn't get a response. In fact he swore that the woman was smiling, and not in a good way.

The two of them returned to the hut, and August saw right away that the sooner they left the better. The men were more than a little nervous being in such close proximity to a couple of Witches so obviously outside of Chantry control. Eyes were alert, mouths set in thin lines and hands were never far away from the hilts of their swords. Morrigan seemed uninterested in their discomfort, in fact she seemed more than happy to ignore them altogether.

"Ah mother," Morrigan began as they closed in. "Will we be saying goodbye once again to our guests? Shall I get dinner ready?"

"The Wardens will be leaving child, and you will be going along with them."

Needless to say that August's theory that Morrigan was unaware of her mother's plan was accurate. The look of shock on her face broke through her facade and the stuttering response solidified that fact. "Mother, you cannot be serious... I am not ready."

"I am always serious child, and if you aren't ready now you likely never will be." The older Witch countered neatly. "These Wardens are about to embark on a dangerous quest, and the Blight threatens every living thing in Ferelden and Thedas as a whole. They will need all the help they can get."

August frowned at the elder Witch, "While I would happily take Morrigan along I wouldn't take her against her will."

"Nonsense, the girl needs to see the outside world. This is my one request for my services, and I will have it."

"Very well, then I accept." August turned to the young Witch. "It would be an honour and a pleasure to have you accompany us. Gather what supplies you need for a long journey and return with us to Ostagar. Flemeth, you have my gratitude for not just protecting the treaties but also returning my brother to us. Know that your daughter will be a valued companion in the trials ahead."

"Ah so you do know manners, young Warden," Flemeth said with more than a little mirth, enjoying seeing him twitch. "I entrust you with that which I value above all else."

August nodded his head, then turned and left mother and daughter to say their goodbyes. The men waited, still alert and ready, loosely surrounding the cart which his brother slept. He called over the officer of the group, a middle aged Sergeant whose name he was just able to recall. "Sergeant Harkin. We'll be leaving in due course, get the men together."

"Thank the Maker," the man replied, relief washing over him. "Begging your pardon milord but the men are unnerved about the place, something of a foul air about it."

August didn't answer the man, but offered a nod in agreement as Morrigan entered the hut to pack her belongings. There was something wrong with this place, something which sizzled in the air, a creeping malice which placed a chill in his bones. The sooner he left this place and returned to Ostagar with his brother the better.

* * *

The trip from Flemeth's hut to the fortress was uneventful, no Darkspawn lay in wait for them on the route back and the further the men got the more relaxed they became, even with Morrigan amongst them. The Witch had been morose and sulking on the journey back, not saying more than a few words when August tried to speak to her. She didn't want to leave the Wilds or her Mother, and August understood to a point. To leave the only home you've ever known can be a terrifying and daunting feat.

As they entered the camp and marched through it word quickly spread of the Wardens return and the return of the Teyrn of Highever. By the time they were within the safety of their own camp it had spread across the rest of the army like wildfire.

Alistair was waiting for them outside of the tent, looking better rested and more agreeable than last night, but his mood seemed to sour when he saw Morrigan. The two of them glared hatefully at each other the moment their eyes met, and August sighed upon seeing it. The last thing he needed were his own allies tearing each other's throats out.

His fellow Warden had the good graces to wait until they had gotten Fergus into the tent and his men left. It was only him, Morrigan, Alistair and an unconscious Fergus by the time the inevitable argument broke out. "You can't seriously consider letting her come along do you!? She's an Apostate."

"Keep your voice down for Maker's sake," August snarled back, feeling another headache coming along. "It was a request by her mother, and I could not decline."

"By Andraste's nightgown why not?"

"Because they found and treated my brother," August shot back, feeling angry. "The last family I have left in this world and they brought him back to me. I owe her, and it was a matter of honour that I accept."

"B-but she's nasty, sarcastic... and she's half naked all the time!" Alistair was pulling at straws at this point, and everyone knew it.

"What's the matter little Chantry boy," Morrigan drawled, wicked mischief in her unnatural amber eyes. "Never seen a pair of tits before?"

"I-I've seen them, oh boy have I seen them." Alistair shot back, flushed.

"Enough," August growled. "Alistair, Grey Wardens take allies wherever they find them. Isn't that one of the principal mottos of the order. Morrigan and her mother want the Blight ended as much as anyone else, and have offered their services to that end. Would you deny a powerful Mage to our cause?"

"Well, no, but." Alistair looked like he wanted to protest, but upon seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere he folded his arms and huffed. "Alright fine."

"Good," August nodded, turning to Morrigan. "Will working with him be a problem."

"It will be testing, but I think I can manage this oaf." She replied, smirking upon seeing that her little jab hit home with how Alistair was sputtering. August sighed, his headache increasing.

"At least try to be civil with each other," August almost pleaded. "It will be a long journey, and the war to come longer still. We will be living and working together for some time to come."

Both grunted, but August knew that it was as close to an agreement as he will get. He wasn't going to put further pressure on them, but he had other more important things on his mind than a squabble. "Morrigan, would you be able to continue my brother's treatment."

"Tis not possible," Morrigan replied frankly. "My magic isn't focused around the arts of healing. Perhaps one of your pet Mages would be more appropriate."

He thought as much. It seemed that most of the healing had come from Flemeth instead of her daughter and what she had done hadn't been enough to fully heal his brother. So a trip to the Circle of Mages for help was needed. Perhaps if he found this Senior Enchanter Gwyneth had been speaking off.

"I will do just that." August replied as he got to his feet and walked to the exit. "Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

There was no response and when he turned he saw Alistair and Morrigan glaring balefully at each other. August shook his head and exited the tent into the midmorning sun, finding and grabbing the arm of a passing by Sergeant Harkin. "Sergeant, gather some men. We're going to pay a visit to the Circle."

The man blinked and then nodded his head, "Yes Your Lordship."

* * *

 _Thanks to Just A Crazy-Man, Impstar, Jarjaxle, OMAC001, First-Shadow and Judy for leaving reviews for me._

 _I was always of the opinion that the Grey Wardens lit the signal pyre too late for Loghain's troops to make a difference. In fact I remember when I first played the game I looked around the courtyard to see if there was any shortcut to get to the top of the tower. I even saw a Ballista to the side and wandered if it worked. I looked around for rope and tried talking to a few guardsmen (No joke) but sadly it was just for decoration._

 _Now on to answering the questions. I will be attempting to add the other origins into the story. I should be able to add the others in as the story progresses, as well as the other members of the original party, which should be easy enough to do so long as I at least lightly follow the original formula. In some ways I've already started. I wanted Morrigan in the group, and Fergus being forgotten until the end of the game always kind of irked me._

 _Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and also to those who added this story onto your favourites and alerts lists. It really means a lot that people are finding this story interesting. Like always leave a review if you like it, questions and theories are good too._


	5. Mourning the Fallen

_**Chapter 4**_

 _ **Mourning the Fallen**_

Sergeant Harkin managed to recruit a trio of men-at-arms to accompany August to the quarters of the Circle of Magi. The camp set aside for them was small and within the main keep of the old fortress, just to the left if you entered through the interconnecting bridge and guarded by a couple of Templar's.

The guardians of the Chantry looked impressive in their plate armour, the symbol of a flaming sword etched into their chest plates. As they approached one of the Templar's stepped forward, a hand raised for them to stop. "What is your business here?"

"I am August Cousland, Grey Warden and Interim Teyrn of Highever," August announced. "I am here to see about acquiring the services of a Mage."

"For what purpose?"

"To help heal my brother. You must be aware by now that we have found Fergus Cousland in the Wilds. His injuries are grave and I require a Mages skilled in the art of healing." If the man was moved by his request August couldn't see it, not with his helm.

"Please wait a moment." The Templar said with a nod before turning on his heel and entering the small camp, no doubt to talk to his superior. August was no fool. He knew that only seven Mages had been sent from the Circle, and nearly double that number of Templar's had accompanied them to watch over them.

The Templar reappeared through the gate a few minutes later, or maybe it was a different person. It was difficult to tell, with their armour and helmets they all looking the same. "Most of the Mages are preoccupied in the field hospital at the moment. If you wish to speak with them it would be best to start there."

"Thank you," August replied, it was better than what he expected the Templar to say. "I was looking for one of two Mages in particular. A young girl with white hair called Gwyneth Amell and an older Mage called Wynne. Are they at the hospital."

"Senior Enchanter Wynne is there yes, but the other Mage has been confined to quarters."

"Confined?" August asked with a frown. "I had thought that my letter to your commander would protect her from such punishment."

"It wasn't her service to you that she was being punished for, Lord August, in fact what she did for you has saved her life." The Templar explained, before leaning in close. "She left the Circle Tower without permission you see. Was in danger of being named an Apostate before she arrived with your guards and the letter of thanks."

Well that was something, he supposed. It explained her hesitation to returning to the Templar's and her fellow Mages. He had heard some scary stories of what happened to Mages who left their tower without permission. "She wasn't too badly punished I hope?"

"Do you know where the field hospital is?" The Templar asked, ignoring August's question entirely. This worried him, but he had little time to speculate.

"Yes, I know where it is. My thanks to you."

The Templar nodded and waved him on his way, effectively dismissing him. August felt a little irritation on being dismissed so lightly but quickly reigned it in and led his men into the centre of the Keep. Nothing had changed, the large scaffold in the centre of the main courtyard was still there, as were the mass of tents and camp fires. The King's and Teyrn Loghain's tents were clearly visible as was the quartermasters tents at the far end, and just beyond them and up a set of ancient moss covered stone steps was the field hospital.

It was very different from the last time he had visited. Where before there were only a handful of wounded and people to tend them now the entire section was filled with cots and injured soldiers. Many were suffering from varying stages of Blight sickness, many more suffering from more natural injuries such as amputated limbs, slashes and stab wounds. People moved back and forth, either in the simple garb of servants and Chantry personnel but more than a few wore the robes of Mages with their staffs slung across their backs.

August saw the until then unseen pain and suffering caused by the Blight, those who caught Blight sickness had a very slim chance of survival. They would just slowly waste away, become rabid and die. Those who suffered from other wounds of battle were more numerous, and every life hung in the balance. The moans of pain and agony reverberated through the air as he walked through the open space, his men in toe as he moved towards the eldest Mage he could find.

She was an elderly woman, her white hair was pulled back into a rough ponytail, her features were wrinkled and lined but without liver spots of extreme old age and her dark eyes as sharp as a hawks as she looked over a young man, hands glowing a soft blue as she examined her patient.

With a sigh she straightened, the blue glow of her magic dissipating into the air as she turned to a young Serving Elf. "He's got Blight sickness, make him comfortable and see to his needs."

The Elf nodded before moving to her task, leaving the elderly Mage alone.

"Lady Wynne?" She turned to him, those sharp dark eyes examining him as he approached with a hint of recognition. "You may not remember me. My name is August Cousland of Highever."

"I remember you Lord Cousland," Wynne replied as she continued to study him critically. "You're wounds appeared to have healed well."

"They have, and I'm told I have you to thank for that." August replied.

She chuckled, "Young Amell needs to believe in herself more."

"So she did do more than she let on."

Wynne nodded, "She is something of a free spirit, wants to learn elemental magic more than healing even though she very obviously has the talent for it. I swear if she could just accept her talents lie more in healing than destruction she would become a better healer than even me."

"I see."

"Yes dear boy it was she who did all of the work in saving you after the battle. I just appraised her work." Wynne replied, sighing deeply before turning to him fully. "So how can I help you, young man?"

"Word must have reached you by now as to my brother being found in the Wilds." August asked.

"It has. It's been news all over camp since earlier this morning. I hear the poor boy has been comatose since arrival." Wynne replied.

"He has," August replied, nodding. "He was found and cared for by a few apostate Mages in the Wilds, and while his wounds are no longer life threatening they are still serious enough that he hasn't awoken. I would like a Mage trained in healing to look at him for me."

Wynne looked him over for a long moment. "I suppose I can spare some time to look into your brother for you."

"My thanks to you, Lady Wynne." August replied with a bow.

Wynne smiled softly in return, "Please stop with the pleasantries. Wynne is fine."

"Yes, off course Wynne." August replied, more than a little caught off guard by such a casual approach.

"Give me a little more time to complete my rounds." Wynne said as she began walking towards her next patient. "Once I have completed these then I will come with you and see what I can do for your brother."

It didn't take long for Wynne to complete her rounds, and within the hour she was being escorted by August and his men towards the Highever camp. To his surprise and a little relief Morrigan and Alistair were still inside the main camp, unharmed and doing little more than trading the occasional barbed comment with each other.

They moved aside and allowed Wynne to do her work. The elderly Mage handed him her staff and knelt beside his brother, old hands once again flashing blue as she checked Fergus's condition. After a time, completely ignoring the worried glowers of him and Alistair and the occasional impatient grunt from Morrigan she released her hold on her Magic and slowly rose to her feet.

"His wounds are healing well, I recommend he be checked on every now and then and eventually he will awaken on his own. Whoever cared for him before knew exactly what he or she was doing." Wynne turned and eyed the young woman standing with them in the tent wearily. It didn't take much thought to identify her as one of the Witches of the Wilds, something she would have to warn the young Cousland, but later once they were away from the Apostate.

August was relieved by the news, more than he could ever express. Just seeing his brother alive, and now with the knowledge that he would pull through was the source of immeasurable reprieve to him. He hadn't lost his family, those he held most dear to him in all the world. His brother was still alive, still with him and would stand by him against the traitorous scourge in the north.

His smile faded at the news he would have to give to him. How would he deal with the deaths of his beloved wife and son. August had also loved his sister-in-law and nephew and had been near heartbroken upon seeing their lifeless corpses. How would his brother take the news? How could he possibly tell him?

Damn Rendon Howe to the Black City and back for what he had done. It didn't matter what the cost was, revenge would be exacted for his crimes and massacres against his kin. He would drag his half dead body before the graves of his parents and make him beg for forgiveness before he personally relieved his head from his shoulders.

"Ser Warden," Wynne was frowning at the flurry of emotions flowing through the young man's face, but as soon as the last syllable left her tongue he blinked and his expression was schooled back to the political visage of a noble. He smiled at her, a smile which seemed genuine and bowed his head ever so slightly in thanks.

"My apologies Lady Wynne. I have a lot on my mind." He explained. "This news is the best I have heard in many days. I thank you for putting my mind at ease."

"You are most welcome, Ser Warden." Wynne replied as she bowed, lower than her current benefactor.

"I will see you back to the field hospital." He continued, and the two of them left the tent and walked through the busy camp at a sedate pace. His guards, upon seeing him leave the tent, immediately flanked and fell into step with him and the Mage.

It wasn't until they were out of earshot that Wynne decided to issue her warning. "Ser Warden, it isn't my business to meddle in the affairs of your Order, but I feel I must offer you a warning."

August turned his head, blinking in slight surprise at the elderly woman. A warning? About what? "A warning, My Lady?"

"Concerning one of your companions in the tent." Wynne continued. True she had not seen many Witches of the Wilds, but she had read many tomes and books on them and their dangers. "I felt the call of Magic from her, and I have read enough about Apostate Mages to know one on sight, especially the markings and features of those named the Witches of the Wilds."

"Your concern is noted, My Lady." August replied. "I am already aware of the woman's origins. Her name is Morrigan, and she was instrumental in not just finding important documents but also in protecting my brother from the dangers of the Wilds. It was she and her kin who tended to his wounds."

Wynne was silent, thoughtful, brow creasing and eyes ahead. "Be weary of her all the same, Ser Warden. Witches of the Wilds are notorious even among Apostates, masters of manipulation both in word and in magic."

"I am aware. I think I have read the same books you speak off, Lady Wynne." August replied, and he was taking the elderly Mages warning to heart, mainly because it echoed his own concerns. He was not sure about Morrigan, who was certainly unrefined, brash, rude even, but honest in her opinions. The one to be worried about was Flemeth. He was sure of this. The wily old Crow was entering the game for more than just stopping the Blight, yes she had her own objectives, her own plans and was hoping he and those around him would be the pawns.

The question was what, what was the old Witch hiding? What were her goals? Her objectives? Her reasons for sending her daughter with them on this quest where safety was nonexistent and danger was constant? He had been present in many political meetings, both at Landsmeets and in the halls of Highever Castle when his father called the Arls and Banns of the Teyrnir together. She acted like an unsophisticated goat, but he was sure it was an act.

He placed it to the back of his mind for now. The journey before them would be long, and he had plenty of time to find out what the old woman was planning. Maybe Morrigan knew, and would divulge once they were friendly enough, or maybe there were tomes and stories hidden in some bookcase somewhere about the immortal Flemeth and her schemes. He suppressed a chuckle at that. If only things were that simple.

"Lady Wynne, I thank you for your concern but know that I am aware of the dangers." August said at last, just as they passed the guards protecting Ostagar keep and crossed the open ground towards the quartermasters and from there the field hospital. "I ask for you not to worry about me, and continue with your own good work."

A few days passed and August and his small group busied themselves at first with preparations and then boredom. It took some wrangling when dealing with the Master of Horses and the men in charge of provisions but by the end of the first day they had managed to acquire the necessary food, drink, gear and four strong horses.

* * *

They could, in all honesty, have left the next day, but were stopped when reports came through from the north. A handful of strong Darkspawn War-bands had managed to circumvent the armies picket line and were causing havoc at their backs, though they weren't numerous or strong enough to illicit serious concern Loghain had ordered troops north to hunt down and eradicate the scourge before they grew bold and attacked bigger game than hamlets and farms. Until then no small parties were allowed outside the walls, and likewise the supply wagons were ordered to remain at the last large settlement before Ostagar, the Village of Lothering.

August should have been impatient and itching to get going, but he couldn't find it in himself too. He did not want to leave his brother's side, not until he saw him awake and able to move about with his own eyes. So after preparations were completed and all they could do was wait he spent a great deal of his time within the Highever Camp and his brothers tent, watching over him. Alistair and Morrigan were never far away, and seemed to delight in throwing sarcastic insults and jests at each other whenever the mood seemed to take them that way, which seemed to be all the damned time.

Then there was the inevitable funeral, for the men who had lost their lives but mainly for the now dead King. It was going to happen, and as the current recognised Teyrn of Highever August knew that he had to make an appearance. The service had been carried out on the second day just before twilight set in and he found himself standing on an erected scaffolding alongside the other Nobles and Commanders of the Army. Alistair was with him, standing by his side and looking very uncomfortable in the presence of so much Ferelden Nobility. August couldn't blame him considering what he knew, most were Wolves in fine silk but a few were worth remaining friendly with.

He saw Arl Gallagher Wulff, the old scoundrel, and the younger, more proper Arl Leonas Bryland. Both greeted him cordially, offering him condolences on his loss, relief that his brother was alive and the support of their Arlings when the time came to take back Highever. He had even learned how the two had voiced their displeasure on learning of Loghain's plan against the Grey Wardens, which they seemed to consider, to a lesser extent, a plot against him. August had laughed it off in front of them, advising that he and Loghain had come to an understanding and thanked them for their support.

The King's funeral pyre, taller and grander than the others and with only Cailan himself lying upon it, was set alight first. The King made for a magnificent corpse, dressed in ceremonial white linen, his hands on his chest, eyes closed and face serene, one would think he died peacefully in his sleep instead of being killed in battle.

The other pyres did not waste as much wood, with at least a few dozen men laid out on each. It was done with dignity, and even the Grey Warden dead were afforded the same honour. He had taken Alistair to the fields where the bodies were laid, and allowed him to say his farewells to his friends. It had been a heartbreaking scene when his fellow Warden found Duncan's body, looked upon a face pale and cold in death and break down in tears as all of the grief he had been holding in for the last several days broke to the surface.

August had done nothing but remained where he was, standing to the side, allowing his fellow Warden and new ally to grieve and say goodbye. It was a different Alistair who left those fields with him, with slimy checks and bloodshot eyes but with a new purpose and a new determination to see the Blight ended and the honour of the Wardens upheld.

He thought this a worthy goal as he watched each and every pyre set alight, creating a great spectacle of flame and smoke and burning, cracking timber as the dead were laid to rest. The flames heat could be felt even from here. He still didn't know whether he should loath or be grateful too Duncan, and to tell the truth he probably would never know the answer.

He wondered if Howe had at least allowed his family this honour. Had their bodies been given the full honours of a Ferelden burial or had they been thrown into some ditch out in the wilderness and left to rot. He hoped that Howe at least had that much humanity left in him, but somewhere deep down in his heart he knew the truth to that.

So, in the gathering darkness of dusk, with the only light being from the all consuming flames of the funeral pyres August Cousland felt tears flow down his cheeks unabated but did not move to wipe them. He stood there, watching the flames, remembering past times, better times, times he took for granted and wished with all of his heart he could relive. He remembered his father, his mother, his sister-in-law and nephew, the old cook Nan, his equally old tutor Aldous, the servants and guardsmen whose names and faces flashed before his eyes. Now gone forever and never coming back to him.

He mourned the loss of his entire world, and wept silently in the darkness.

* * *

"You'll need to reach Lothering first," Loghain explained, peering over the map of Ferelden with a critical gaze. August stood beside him, hand rubbing his chin, mind taking in every word the General said. Alistair stood at the far end of the tent, arms folded and glaring at the Teyrn who, thankfully, choose to ignore the young man's silent ire. "It is a crossroads between Ostagar and every other road north into the Bannorn. From there you can re-supply and take anyone of the three roads you'll need to travel to reach your destinations."

August nodded, eyes scanning the well detailed map, taking in how intricate it really was. Every known settlement, fortress, town and city were marked on it from Denerim and Highever in the far north to Gwaren and Ostagar in the south, even the fortresses which guarded the borders with Orlais in the Frostback Mountains were marked on this map. August had a real urge to ask the Teyrn if he had any maps like these to spare.

A few days had passed since the funeral, and although he still feared for his brother he was eager to get going. The sooner he reached these destinations and presented these treaties the sooner he could return to Ostagar, and if his brother was awake and well by then they could turn north together with the promised war host at their backs to deal with Howe and his traitors once and for all.

And the reports between them and Lothering had vastly improved from the doom and gloom of a few days ago. Loghain had dispatched a small but elite force who had laid in wait for the larger of the Darkspawn War-bands, ambushing them on the Imperial Highway and slaughtering them to the last Genlock and Hurlock with few casualties of their own. From there they turned east to target the next band in the area only to see that they had retreated into the Bercilian forests and back past the picket line, getting into skirmishes with scouts and patrols of Ferelden soldiers the whole way.

They even found evidence that the monsters had run afoul of the local Dalish tribes, with piles of corpses bearing the unmistakable puncture wounds of their arrows. August had considered heading there with all haste, but knew that the Elves had likely packed up and retreated deeper into the forest. He had heard plenty of complaints by the local Banns during his father's council sessions that they were notoriously prone to striking quickly and then moving on just as quickly before any repercussions could be brought against them.

The third and smallest band had reportedly ran into the troops from Redcliffe, just as they were marching from Lothering to Ostagar, and had been shattered against the fresh column of men and women. The road was now clear, with only a scattered handful of Darkspawn packs to worry about, nothing strong enough to attack a Village.

"Well," Loghain gruffly brought him from his thoughts, looking as impatient and grumpy as always. "What is your plan, boy?"

He didn't like being called boy, even more so than when his father called him Pup every time he did something careless or unwise. He missed those times as much as any other, when he or Fergus or both did something stupid and brash, he would growl and scowl, or those many nights by the roaring fire, when father had one too many goblets of wine and would ruffle their hair and call them his Pups no matter how old they were getting or how much they hated the nickname.

What he wouldn't give to hear his father call him his Pup one last time, not to be.

"Orzammar first," August answered, pointing at the point in the Frostbacks where one of the last great cities of the Dwarven people laid. "We'll travel there and muster the army of the Dwarves, then we'll sail across Lake Calenhad and acquire the services of the Mages at Kinlock Hold, and if time permits we'll then try and find the Dalish in the east."

"The Brecilian forest isn't far from here, why go to the Dwarves first?" Loghain asked. He already knew the logical answer to that, but wanted to hear it from the young Cousland. He wanted to know if he was dealing with a fool or not.

"It may be closer," August allowed. "But there's no guarantee that we'll find the Elves. The Dalish clans are scattered all across Thedas and the ones who live here use the Brecilian forest for protection against us and for the rich hunting grounds within. The clans are elusive and secretive, more likely to run at the sight of a large band of armed humans than risk to stay and talk. It may be closer but there's no guarantee we'll be successful in even meeting them."

Loghain nodded his head, allowing that he wasn't dealing with a fool. It was true that it would be difficult the find the Dalish Elves, who didn't trust humans because of the wars which had robbed them of their homelands. He had managed to recruit a handful to help him during the War of Independence but only a few. The Dalish would be very hard to find, and convincing them to join with humans in war, even against a foe as hated as the Darkspawn, would undoubtedly be a challenge to even the most skilled and open minded of diplomats.

"Orzammar on the other hand is different," August continued, now pressing his finger against the mark of the ancient city. "It is the last great City of the Dwarves. We know exactly where it is and we have estimates to the size of the army they can reasonably bring to our side. The estimates are that the Dwarves have an army between five to seven thousand battle ready soldiers ready to muster to protect their home and the sooner we can convince them to join us here the better. We can double our numbers with veteran warriors who have faced Darkspawn in battle and survived. Then there are the Legion of the Damned I have read about, a literal Legion of Dwarven warriors who love nothing more than battle and honour. Even if the worst happens and we fail to gain the Dwarves support the promise of Darkspawn should be enough to entice the Legion to join us. That's still roughly a thousand men."

"And the Mages?" Loghain asked, slightly impressed. The boy had done his homework and was right about the estimated numbers. He was even more impressed that the young noble had even heard of the Legion of the Damned let alone his desire to recruit them as well as the army at Ostagar. Now what was his opinion of the Mages?

August looked at the older man in the eye, gauging him, examining him. Was he an enemy, a friend or neither? He had made himself look like an enemy early on, then given up on his supposed goal too quickly. The answer was neither, at least in August's mind. He must be cautious but he could not afford to lie. He remembered Gwyneth and Wynne during those moments, how they had saved his life after the battle in the Tower and his mind was set.

"The Mages will be crucial," August replied. "When I was in the tower I was aided by a Mage who went by the name of Gwyneth and her help was invaluable. Her magic saved my life not just when I fought in the Tower but afterwards as well. The magic they can bring to the table and their destructive power in battle will make them unparalleled allies when fighting the Darkspawn. I don't know how many of them are above fighting age in the tower, but I do know that I need to recruit as many of them as I can. With their help the army will have the strength of one thrice its size."

Loghain nodded, agreeing with every word the young Warden had said. The Dwarves and Mages alone would bring numbers and power to his army even without the Elves whose numbers were sketchy at best. Whether that would be enough to keep the Darkspawn in the South and not break through into the rest of Ferelden he did not know, but he had his chance at retreating from Ostagar at the expense of the King and would have taken it had the signal not been lit in time. It pained him to admit it, considering his personal love for Cailan as an adopted son, but if the signal had been lit and the King's forces had been all but defeated he would have ordered his men to break away and march north. It would have been a risk, the country would have been in turmoil with the death of the King but if it meant saving even a portion of the army to combat the Darkspawn another day he would have done so. Ferelden, the country, had his loyalty and not some young upstart King who didn't have a clue how to run a Kingdom let alone defend it.

"When do you plan on leaving?" He asked.

"Within a day or two," August replied. "I wish to wait until the last of the major Darkspawn bands have been cleared and to see if my brother awakens from his state to lead the men of Highever once again. I do not wish to take his place as Teyrn while he draws breath, nor do I wish too regardless. I would also like to see if I can gain more allies to travel north with, at the moment I have only three including myself."

Not the best, nor brightest.

He didn't need the young noble to tell him that for he could see for himself just from a basic assessment. Alistair was a strong lad and a noble warrior, but knew nothing of politics or even keeping his emotions in check. His anger at Loghain personally for his actions against the Wardens was obvious to even a child within this tent. The woman who had joined them in recent days was not as bad, but not much better. Every movement she made, everything she did screamed Apostate to anyone with half a brain and it was only because of her company amongst the surviving Grey Wardens, and with a member of the Cousland family at that, which kept her from being confronted and dragged away by the Templars.

He needed more allies, strong and trustworthy allies. There were plenty amongst the army which could be just that but Loghain refused to send them away from the front. He needed every able bodied man and woman here to face the counterattack by the Darkspawn when they came and there would be a counterattack. Was this truly a Blight he did not know, but he knew the monsters would regroup and try again. It was inevitable.

"I would recommend recruiting that woman you talk so highly off, her tutor too if you can." Loghain remarked, watching as the young man frowned.

"Won't she be needed here at camp, as a healer or a Battle-Mage?" He asked.

Ah, so the boy wasn't quite as smart as he thought, well maybe smart but naive in politics in race or status. It wasn't much of a disappointment considering how able he seemed to be already but he did expect more. "The girl came here against the will of her peers."

"I am aware of that," August allowed. "However given her recent good service to the army I would have thought her transgressions would be placed aside. The Darkspawn are not defeated, and we will need every able bodied volunteer to aide us in the times ahead. She is able and she seems more than happy to volunteer."

"Even so the Templars are unhappy with her presence and are preparing to return her to Kinlock Hold." Loghain replied.

"That will not do, to have such a strong and promising Mage sent back. Her skills are needed here."

"I agree," Loghain agreed, meaning it. From the stories alone the girl was a talented and skilled Mage, able to conjure spells and unleash power equal to that of a Senior Enchanter or perhaps more. He would rather have her in the army under his command, but under the Warden was better than back to the Circle or worse still, dead. Templars were known in other parts of Thedas to kill a strong Mage out of fear than seeing the benefits such a figure could bring.

He didn't share this with August, for he knew that behind his mask of nobility was a man who also moved on instinct and killing a few Templars to free a Mage, no matter how skilled, was not something even he wanted happening now. He was already dealing with a multitude of issues on home soil, and the last he needed was another crisis in killing warriors of the Divine of the Chantry.

"I believe she will be held at the camp of the Magi, under the guard of the Templars and the Revered Mother Agatha in preparation of her return to the Chantry. Perhaps if you could convince them of your cause you would have another strong companion." Loghain said lowly.

August seemed to agree, "I shall go there at once."

So he did, after final agreements on supplies and small tweaks to his strategy the young man offered a curt bow to Loghain, turned on his heel and marched out of the tent. Alistair hesitated before following his fellow Warden, his face creased in a frown as they exited and breathed open air. He kept his mouth shut until they were outside of earshot before speaking his mind.

"I hate that man."

August snorted, "Really, I would never have guessed."

"Oh, ha ha," Alistair retorted with sarcasm, his old wit slowing returning after his much needed chance to mourn his old mentor. He liked Alistair, in all honesty, even though they bickered and argued about their plans of action he saw a man who can and would watch his back in a fight. The battle of the Tower had cemented his trust in the former Templar-recruit. "I am not looking forward to seeing that old bat again."

"Oh, you know the Revered Mother?"

He smirked, "Yeah, former Templar-recruit and all that. The old goat's been guilt tripping me since I arrived at Ostagar. Made me do little errands for her before you arrived. Do you remember that argument I was having with the Senior Enchanter?"

It took August a moment to remembe. It had seemed like so long ago he couldn't believe it was barely five days. "Yeah, I remember. You delivered a message he didn't like."

"To put it mildly," Alistair shook his head. "Revered Mother Agatha cornered me several times while Duncan was off recruiting you. That last little spat was her demanding that Senior Enchanter Uldred paid her a visit, so she could remind him who was in charge. Her exact words by the way."

August grimaced, "I take it this Revered Mother isn't very agreeable."

"Oh she's agreeable, so long as you agree with her. Horrible woman, proper old battleaxe, rumour has it she can kill a man at ten paces with one puff of her tongue." Alistair continued, his words bringing August equal parts amusement and dread. The last thing he wanted was exchanging harsh words with a high ranking member of the Chantry, especially someone who was at least a Revered Mother, those women were usually old crones who enjoyed applying guilt and sweet words in equal measure to get their way.

"This is going to be... fun." August allowed.

"You hesitated there," Alistair pointed out, suddenly feeling very nervous. "Why?"

* * *

It turned out that Alistair wasn't exaggerating about the dear old Revered Mother. They had managed to get into the Mages grounds easy enough, few people hadn't heard of the two surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden, who dared go against their traitorous brethren and light the beacon for the armies great victory. Loghain had to save face somehow he supposed but neither August nor Alistair particularly liked that story.

Most of the Mages had been scattered across the camp, caring for the wounded or keeping watch over the funeral pyres under the watch of selected Templar guards so when they entered the camp it was all but empty, save for a handful of Templars and Clergy. They were led to the Revered Mothers tent and granted entrance.

It was here where the pleasantries ended.

The Revered Mother was everything Alistair had explained and more. Just as August guessed she was an old woman, face lined with wrinkles and dirty grey hair tied back in a tight knot, but her eyes were sharp and her tongue just as much. Her greetings were cordial enough, if lined with impatience and more than a little derision. Then Gwyneth's name was mentioned and the mood soured, he noticed with a sigh that Alistair had flinched at her narrowing eyes and stern gaze.

Really, was he a man or a kicked puppy?

"The girl's fate is clear," she spoke gruffly, as if addressing a moody child. "She has escaped the Circle and travelled here without Chantry approval or with a Templar guard. If I had my way she would be declared an Apostate and dealt with appropriately, however it is up to the Knight-Commander."

"Escaped, that's a bit of a harsh opinion Revered Mother," August countered, not withering under her hard glare. His mother could conjure worse on a good day. "And I think branding her an Apostate is equally harsh and unnecessary. She did not escape the Circle to hide in the wilderness and practise blood magic. She _left_ so she could be of use against the Blight. It is my opinion that such courage should be met with praise instead of scorn."

"Her decisions were rash and foolish, and she shall be punished accordingly." Agatha replied, eyes narrowing further if at all possible. "For all we know her exposure to the outside world without a Templar escort could bring her under the influence of evil beings already. She may even be possessed by the malignant powers of the Fade and we not even now it."

"You cannot be serious?" August asked, shocked that the woman would even say such a thing. Alistair too seemed suitably horrified by the old woman's words. "The woman who volunteered to aide me and fought beside me in the Tower is no Malificar I can assure you, otherwise I would not have survived the battle."

"She is a Mage," the old woman spat, venom in every word. "A Mage who disregarded Chantry rule and went out on her own. Who knows what ill she has cast during her escapade away from our supervision. Such vagrant disregard considering what she _is_ needs to be punished, and severely."

"How severely, Revered Mother?" August asked, a quiet steel in his tone.

The old woman didn't hear the menace in his voice, "As severely as need be. Her crimes go against the principal codes of the Circle of Magi, set aside by the Chantry since it's foundation. By breaking these decrees she is no better than those evil Mages of Tevinter. She will be judged by the Knight-Commander, and if she is lucky she'll just be made to take the Rite of Tranquility."

August frowned, "I am unfamiliar with the Rite of Tranquility."

Alistair seemed to be, and his face paled at the words. August looked at him, eyes narrowing, frowning and suddenly his decision was clear. He didn't know what this Rite was or what it did but his instincts told him that he needed to act, and fast. He really didn't want to have to do this, not against the Chantry, but what choice did he have? He owed this girl. She saved his life and was in a lot of trouble because of what she had done in saving him.

"Then you give me little choice," August said, rising to his full height, face grave as he spoke. "As a Grey Warden of Ferelden I, August Cousland, do hereby evoke the Rite of Conscription for Gwyneth Amell, Mage of the Circle, for her to aide us in a time of Blight."

Alistair got paler at his words, if that was even possible. It was nothing compared to the expression on the Revered Mothers face, mouth hanging open like a guppy and eyes wide in disbelief. That was quickly replaced with indignation and fuming anger. "You cannot do this."

"I can, and I have," August said, voice cold. "Or would you deny the Grey Wardens their hallowed Rites to gather what allies they can during a time of Blight. The treaties on this are clear Revered Mother, you might want to read them to jog your memory."

She wanted to play rough, well fine, he had more than a few cards in his hand as well as his ace in the whole. He was there when Duncan performed the Rite of Conscription on him, and had a feeling that it was irreversible against anybody whether they were the highest of Nobles or even the Priests of the Chantry. How else would Alistair be here than through that Rite? Why else would Morrigan remain in the tent in the Highever encampment than the very mention of the title Grey Warden?

Revered Mother Agatha glared at him, grinding her teeth in rage and disbelief that a Cousland would perform such a Rite for a mere Mage. Finally she turned to the entrance, called one of the Templar guards and ordered him to bring Gwyneth Amell to them. She sat behind her desk, fuming as August allowed a small smile of triumph and Alistair continued to look like a deer before a lit lamp. So the Rite of Conscription was useful for more than against Nobles.

His smile faded when Gwyneth was brought into the tent, "Maker, what is this!?"

She had been beaten, that much was obvious by just looking at her. He had hoped his letter to them had protected her in some way, and repented at how naive he was. She was brought to them naked, with only a ratty cloak covering her from leering eyes and the elements, and not well at that, he saw bruises and exposed skin when she shuffled and was roughly pushed into the tent by the Templar sent to retrieve her.

Alistair was equally appalled, his apprehension at August using the Rite of Conscription forgotten and forgiven. August took a long look at her, seeing her brilliant blue eyes look his way then avert in shame, he ground his teeth together, slamming his fist against the table with enough force to echo through the small tent and out into the beyond, startling the Revered Mother and making the Templar place his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"You didn't answer me," He said guardedly, barely able to control himself. " _What_ is this?"

"It is taking precautions," Agatha replied, testily. "And the Divine will hear about this."

"The Divine will hear what, exactly?" August asked, nerves frayed and anger flared by such an act of indecency. "Learn that you have taken a young girl, striped her naked, beat her and threw her in a cell and have done who knows what else because she saved the life of a Cousland? How dare you Madam! I had thought the Chantry better than this. You shame the Maker and the fair Lady Andraste's memory with such a callous act of barbarism!"

her face became flushed at the words, "How dare you!"

"I dare," August replied, hard as steel. "I am now more certain than ever in my Rite of Conscription, if I felt I could get away with it I'd proclaim the Rite on every Mage from here to Kinlock Hold and back just to remove them from your presence! I want her clothes returned to her and her staff as well! You, Templar, make it so!"

He did. The Templar returned with a suitably clean pair of Mages robes, her staff of enchanted oak slung across his back. August ordered everyone else out of the tent while the Mage changed, even shooting a disgusted glare at the so-called Revered Mother when she dared to protest. It wasn't long before Gwyneth stepped into the sunlight, fully dressed and using her staff as a crutch, she had been limping when she entered the tent, August realised.

He and Alistair stood flanking her as they left the Mages encampment, eyes sharp and alert even when they left the boundary and were met with the Highever guards they had left at the entrance. It wasn't until they were walking across the connecting bridge, far away from the agents of the Chantry, that Gwyneth mustered the courage to speak.

"I am to be a Grey Warden?" She asked.

"Yes," August replied, grimacing. It may have been done with her best interests but it was still against her will. "I am sorry."

She was silent for a long moment, pondering. "Will they ever be able to do this to me again."

"No," he replied, looking to Alistair for confirmation and getting it with a subtle nod. He didn't know what else they had done to her besides strip her and throw her in a cell, and he wasn't going to force the issue. "From here on out you're a Warden-Recruit, and out of the reach of the Chantry."

"Good," she replied with finality, and August wasn't surprised to see a fire in her eyes.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Impstar, Jarjaxle, First-Shadow, Preier, KuronoDono12, DamionKenley117 and Judy for their reviews. They are greatly appreciated. Thanks as well to the 17 people who have put this onto their favourites list and 21 who added it to their alerts._

 _To answer the questions placed forward in the reviews yes I will be attempting to add all origins into the story and hopefully not get it bogged down or wrecked. For now this story has my full attention but I do feel a little of my muse coming around for my other works. For now though my full attention will be on this one, as writing it is very easy compared to my older stuff. I have kind of lost interest in the source material and that's a bit of an issue._

 _Thank you for reading, and don't forget to leave a review._


	6. Beginning the Journey

_**Chapter 5**_

 _ **Beginning the Journey**_

The second they entered the Highever camp August took aside a servant and asked for her to go and bring a healer. The young woman nodded and headed off, coming back half an hour later with none other than Lady Wynne in tow. The elderly Mage fussed over Gwyneth, hands glowing blue with ethereal light as she examined the younger woman, ignoring her quiet assurances that she was alright.

The cuts and bruises were healed quickly, but with a worried frown the old woman asked that they be given some privacy. August agreed, and allowed them the use of a tent which had recently been emptied, it's occupants having gone to the Makers side during the course of the battle. There the two Mages entered and remained for some time.

Suddenly feeling tired and fatigued August asked for food and wine, which were brought to the main tent quickly by a few servants. There the two Wardens ate their fill, emptying the jug of malt wine as Morrigan looked on with bemusement. "Tis normal that you Wardens eat enough for thrice the number of people?"

Remembering his question and answer sessions with Alistair August shrugged and wolfed down a large slice of pork. "Pretty much, higher metabolism needs more food."

"Ah, and here was me thinking you were just gluttonous slobs." She smirked in amusement at the obvious slight, causing Alistair to almost choke on his food, down what was left of his wine and level an ineffective glare at the Apostate.

August chuckled in response, "You know when I spent my first few nights with Duncan I thought the exact same thing. The man would go hunting every time we settled for the night and bring back enough meat for four men and would always eat the whole thing before we left the next morn. I had thought him a pig."

"But not now," Alistair asked.

"No, not now." August agreed.

Morrigan shrugged, not caring to delve further into the minds of supposed civilised folk and turned her thoughts onto other things. "So I take it that little Pet Mage is to travel with us?"

"That she is," August replied, looking at her with a raised brow. "Problem?"

"Oh no, not at all." Morrigan demurred. "I have no issue if you wish to bring a little pet along with you. Someone to do all the normal things a Mage is supposed to do, sit, roll over, beg."

Dagger whined at August's feet, and he tossed a nice little helping of pork for the Mabari. He took it but levelled a long gaze on Morrigan. "It appears you do not have a good opinion of Circle Mages."

"Hmm, simple little fools more than happy to live in a gilded cage under the watchful eye of their future executioners. I on the other hand would fight for my freedom instead of being a good little Mage."

"Try and be civil with Gwyneth. We will be travelling together and she has been through quite the ordeal." He looked over at the Witch, silently trying to read her but getting little more than thinly veiled contempt. He sighed, stabbing another slab of meat with a knife and munching down on it.

Truth be told he was worried. Wynne had healed Gwyneth's superficial wounds, the bruises and cuts had been healed quickly and without a blemish but the elder Mage leading her former apprentice into a tent had brought some worry. Was she alright? Were there greater injuries than originally thought? It brought worry but also anger for her. That the Chantry would do such a thing to one under their charge was deplorable, even if she had gone against their advice and marched south with the army.

"So when will we be leaving?" Alistair asked. "I mean we have the supplies and horses, and the funeral has ended. There is little else keeping us here."

Except for his brother, still unconscious in the cot on the other side of the tent, but he had to admit that Alistair had a point. Time was of the essence and Fergus wouldn't be helpless with him not being here, with his troops around him and the Mages who come to check up on him he would be perfectly safe. He would rather tell his brother what had happened at Highever in person, but he now had responsibilities of his own to see too. He would wait another day, one more day and no more.

"You are right. We will wait one more day, and then we will head north." August answered at last. The three of them ate in silence, waiting until the two Mages decided to honour them with their presence. It didn't take long. Wynne entered the tent first, with a healthier looking Gwyneth following behind. The two Wardens rose to their feet, while Morrigan remained lounging in the corner.

Wynne eyed the Apostate with obvious disapproval before turning her gaze to the two Wardens. "I hear you have proclaimed the Rite of Conscription on Gwyneth here."

"That is correct." August replied.

The Senior Enchanter eyed him critically for a long moment before sighing, "Whether I agree with your approach or not is irrelevant. Gwyneth has told me of the events leading up to now and I thank you for acting on my students behalf. No matter how misguided her own choices until then where."

Gwyneth was shamefaced as she stood to the side, wringing her hands together. August gained her attention and offered her a smile. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you Ser Warden."

"I am sorry for forcing you into this position. When I went to ask for your services I did not foresee that I would need to invoke the Rite of Conscription."

"It is not your fault, and do not think that what you did inconveniences me. Even though I was conscripted I am probably more free now than I ever was before." She replied, with a weak smile which seemed just a little more genuine than any before. "It is I who should now thank you."

From the corner of his eye he saw Wynne watching the girl with a disapproving frown but did not speak, so he did not bring it up either. He wandered what the two women had discussed in the privacy of that tent. Instead he sighed and walking over to the young Mage offered her his hand. "It is a pleasure. Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Lady Gwyneth Amell."

Surprised and apprehensive the young woman did take his hand, marvelling at how large his was compared to hers. "Thank you, Ser Warden. I shall try to make myself worthy of your trust."

"I'm sure you will, and stop with the Ser Warden titles. My name is August." He hoped his smile was as disarming and friendly as possible. "Be aware that we won't be able to do the actual joining for you to become a Grey Warden, so for the time being you will be a Warden-Recruit."

"I understand Ser War... August." She replied, correcting herself and nodding.

"Now that that's settled welcome to the ranks of the Grey in Ferelden. You must be hungry so help yourself and eat your fill." Gwyneth hesitated once again, before her empty stomach took control and she moved over to the table with a nod and a few words of thanks. It wasn't until she bit down on a piece of fruit that she realised how hungry she was.

He thanked Wynne for her trouble and allowed her to excuse herself. There was still work to be done and she had no qualms with leaving her former student in capable and safe hands. She was a Warden-Recruit now, and no longer under the control of the Chantry or the Templars.

The Wardens ate and drank their fill before turning in for the night. Gwyneth slept deeper and easier than she ever did in living memory, now free from the accusatory stares, the damning rhetoric and the executioners blade of the Chantry and their Templar guards. August and Alistair on the other hand continued to have haunting dreams in the Fade. Of Darkspawn wandering, defeated, lost, bewildered, trying to find their holes back into the Deep Roads to regroup under the malicious and deadly gaze of the Archdemon.

The Old God turned monster was not happy. Both August and Alistair saw and felt it in the Fade. It was furious, murderously so. It roared out its anger and rage, wings beating, clawed hands and feet slamming into the ground of the Deep Roads with enough force to shatter and crack stone. It's roars echoed through their heads. Images of a huge maw of teeth like rows of short-swords, claws like spears and wings which were a hurricane, a natural disaster in and of themselves.

It was angry, and it was preparing for another push onto the hated surface, one greater than that of before. August awoke with a gasp, taking air in and out of his lungs as he forced himself to calm down. He looked across the tent, gaze falling on his still comatose brother before fixing on his fellow Warden. Alistair had awakened, their eyes met and they knew on an instinctual level that they had both witnessed the same vision.

"We have waited here for too long." August allowed, finally getting control over his breathing. He had to consider what was more important, being there for his brother when he awoke or the survival of Ferelden, perhaps all of Thedas.

It was dawn now. He could see the young strands of sunlight flooding through the folds of the tent entrance. In that moment, while seeing a hint of the new day, he had decided. He would place the Highever contingent under the command of Arl Wulff, a man who had always been a trusted ally and friend to his father and family, until his brother awakened. That was what he wanted to think, but his own thoughts betrayed him, Howe had been a trusted friend and ally of his family as well and look what happened. No, he had a duty to fulfil and the Arl would protect Fergus. The old man had never shown a single shred of dishonour for as far back as he could remember.

As for him, well, he had dallied around long enough. It was time to fulfil his duty as a Grey Warden. He would use the treaties to gather an army and march on Ostagar, protect Thedas and Ferelden against the Blight and while doing so gather enough to allow Loghain to release the Highever troops to march north and deal with Howe. Who knows if the treaties yielded enough manpower he may even be able to take along additional troops.

He awoke his three companions and informed them that they would leave today. Alistair accepted it with a nod and some good humour. Morrigan scowled at him for a time, obviously not used to awakening on others whims but soon agreed and began making final preparations. Gwyneth accepted his decision with no arguments and no complaint, getting out of bed and preparing for the journey. Dagger was by his masters side, waiting patiently.

August looked over his ragtag group of companions. A noble out of his depth, a Templar-recruit turned Grey Warden, an Apostate Mage with an attitude problem, an abused, withdrawn Circle Mage and his trusted and loyal Mabari. He sighed, rubbing his head. Well this was going to be an experience. He knew it would be memorable, and had a sinking feeling not in the good kind. His morbid thoughts only increased when they mounted their horses and set out as the sun rose fully and the rain fell.

The Maker was trying to tell him something.

* * *

"He is away then?" Loghain asked, peering over his assortment of maps. Ser Cauthrien, recently entering the tent and drenched from the sudden downpour nodded.

"Yes your Lordship," she replied. "He left this morning, with those three companions of his in tow."

"Who did he leave in charge of the Highever contingent?" Loghain asked.

"Arl Wulff."

That brought him at ease. Arl Gallagher Wulff was a recently widowed and aging man. His line secured with his three sons and two daughters. A good man, a noble man, one of very few men who held the title of Arl he would trust with any large war host. Wulff would keep the Highever troops at bay until Fergus Cousland woke, and even if the young man didn't he was respected enough to demand their loyalty without their own Cousland overlords. Young August had chosen well.

"A good choice," Loghain allowed at last, looking over the maps, trying to find any weak points within his own line he had missed before, wishing that he had been allowed to continue his original contingency with withdrawing to protect the Bannorn. He had charged in because those infernal Wardens had lit the beacon in time, but even with this great victory he doubted he had enough troops to hold Ostagar and keep the Darkspawn from flanking his position.

He cursed Cailan once again for charging into the fray without a proper plan of action.

He could defend Ostagar and the immediate area around it, yet he knew from reading on the Darkspawn and the Blight that they didn't always stick to conventional travel routes such as roads. Smaller war-bands could circumvent them through the forests to the north-east and the open plains to the west. They would probably fall to those tactics, use small packs and bands of troops to attack farms and villages like those larger fragments of the horde had done.

He needed more men, but where would they come from? He could expect a thousand men from Redcliffe, but he expected the same number from the Arl of Amaranthine and they certainly weren't coming now. Where would the rest come from? It would take too much time to demand the current Arl's gather further Levies which would leave their own territories open to attack.

No his best hopes were that the Grey Wardens managed to enforce those treaties of theirs. Even if they were only able to enforce one it would be of great help, either the Dwarven army with their superior siege engines, the Mages and their Magic or the Dalish Elves and their keen senses and great stealth. If he somehow managed to convince all three, well, that would make his position here very tenable.

So he would wait, fortify his position and prepare for the next hammer-blow. The hordes nose had been bloodied, it was dazed and confused but it was nowhere near defeated. Sighing he once again brought his attention to his assortment of maps, hawkish eyes flashing as he went over every nook and cranny, trying to divine where the horde would strike next.

* * *

August growled low in his throat, the first unwelcome signs of a headache making itself known to him. He had known that Alistair and Morrigan wouldn't like each other. A former Templar-Recruit and an Apostate Mage. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. He wasn't prepared for their constant nattering, constant insults and barely concealed barbs they threw at each other. It was pretty amusing at the start, but it had gotten tedious.

Still, not all of his present company was so tiresome. Dagger trotted happily beside his horse, the Mabari more than pleased to be able to stretch his legs on open ground after such a long time of inactivity and to his right, remaining close, was Gwyneth who by all intents and purposes had never rode a horde before in her life and it showed.

The first few hours of their trip had been slowed by them teaching her the basics of riding and not to cower before the large animal. She could do little more than will the animal into a trot, so their progress had been slower than he liked. Still she was a fast learner once her fear faded, and seemed to enjoy her horse and riding.

It turned out that Morrigan had also never ridden a horse in her life, and didn't seem to like the idea of doing so. When she first saw the animal her beautiful features twisted in disgust, and it was only with great patience that they were able to convince her to ride the bloody thing. She learned faster than Gwyneth, and seemed to silently laud it over the Circle Mage.

If she was as irritated by the pair behind him she did a very good job of not showing it, occasionally throwing little glances at them over her shoulder. August himself ground his teeth together, trying to zone them out and concentrating on the stone cobbled surface of the Imperial Highway, a very useful reminder that once this land had been under the control of the Tevinter Imperium.

The Imperial Highway was a magnificent work of engineering, said to stretch from the remnants of the Imperium in the north, snaking down all of Thedas and eventually coming to an end at Ostagar in the far south. It's roads were wide and made of stone, with large evenly spaced arches. It was said that the Highway was the creation of the Tevinter's magic, and the project in building it was never finished.

August wasn't sure if all this was true or not, but he admitted that without this road travelling Ferelden would be considerably more difficult, even though the Highway was crumbling in some areas from dilapidation, lack of repair or even by people stealing stones from the road for their own houses.

They had travelled nearly a quarter of the day when they ran into a long column of armoured and armed men-at-arms, carts, and carriages led by a handful of Nobles on horseback. Their armour, shields and banners bearing the symbol of a single grey tower standing on red rock. The heraldry of the Guerrin Family of Redcliffe.

Numbers were difficult to guess, but August agreed with the initial assessment of roughly a thousand men marching past them, not including the servants and hangers on. He recognised Bann Teagan Guerrin at the head of the army, astride a magnificent black stallion, dressed in armour with a shield over his back and a sword sheathed to his side. Strange, he had thought Arl Eamon would be leading the Redcliffe forces.

Alistair suddenly became very quiet as the small group moved to the side to allow the war host to pass, eyes shifty and head bowed as if he didn't want to be seen. Morrigan was smirking with smug amusement at his discomfort, but her biting words were put on hold. Soon enough the last of the men marched past them entirely and the quartet took to the road once again.

"What, pray tell, was that about?" Morrigan asked, smug.

Alistair blinked at her owlishly, "What?"

"Oh come now, it would take a true dim-witted oaf not to see." Morrigan probably couldn't help but utter such a little barb. "Did you steal some horses? Sleep with the foolish Nobles daughter?"

"No," Alistair countered, mortified. "No nothing like that at all!"

"Well what then?"

"Morrigan, leave him be." August spoke up at last, in defence of his fellow Warden. He was interested himself, and filled it away for a later debate. "It is Alistair's business, and if he wants to tell us he can tell us in his own time."

His fellow Warden looked at him, thankful, while Morrigan scoffed but showed little sign of pressing on with her nattering. As the young Cousland suspected she was doing this just to get a rise from the young man. The next few hours were spent in relative silence, to which August and to a lesser degree Gwyneth were thankful for. It would take the rest of the day to reach Lothering, with the Maker's help, and he enjoyed the silence.

However it soon became apparent that the army were not the only ones using the Imperial Highway. They were halfway to Lothering when they ran into a small group of refugees from the surrounding farms and settlements, fleeing from the war and the Blight in the South. Rumours of fell creatures raiding the countryside had scared plenty in taking what they could and fleeing their homes.

Some were lucky enough to travel with carts pulled by donkeys, but many were travelling by foot. He saw a mother herding three young children along, two girls and a boy. He saw an Elf couple with a small child. An elderly couple driving a wagon. He saw families escaping from the dangers of the Darkspawn while in the opposite direction were wagons and carts laden with supplies for the army, driven by well armed and armoured men.

They managed for another hour before they saw smoke ahead of them and without thinking August moved his horse into a trot, his three companions and Mabari following his lead. Soon the air was filled with clashing of steel and shouts and screams of men and women. He drew his sword as he passed a burning wagon and beheaded a Genlock before it knew he was there.

It wasn't the only one. A group of a dozen Darkspawn had attacked a small string of refugees. He saw the bodies of at least three men on the road, and the shrill screams of a woman being dragged away by a trio of gibbering Hurlocks, her hands bloody from scrapping and grabbing against the bumpy stone surface of the road.

They were still as ugly as he remembered, and then there was the smell. His horse reared back in disgust and fright at just a whiff of its rotting and tainted flesh. August dismounted from his horse and closed in on the trio. Morrigan and Gwyneth were already rounding the burning wagon, preparing their magic. Alistair, more experienced in horse riding soared past them, his sword unsheathed and ready to cleave off a head or two.

He plunged his dagger into the first's throat in an explosion of acrid black life fluid and with a swing of his sword carved through the second's chest. The third abandoned the still flailing woman and lunged at him, only for Dagger to barrel into the creature, jaws around its throat and clamping down. The woman, tired but desperate, scrambled to her feet and fled to the dubious safety of one of the still operable wagons.

Fire and lightning zipped and soared overhead. The fireball slamming into another two Genlocks and setting them alight in shrieks of agony. Alistair, still astride his horse, expertly beheaded another Hurlock with his sword even as August engaged and sliced another from left shoulder to right hip. Dagger, finished with his first target singled out another and lunged at him, taking the Hurlock by surprise as jaws clamped down.

Suddenly, with two thirds of their number down, the remaining Darkspawn seemed to think on retreating before ignoring such a base instinct as escape and came charging at the new interlopers en mass. They died as their fellows did, by sword, magic and the powerful jaws of a Mabari war-hound.

August took a deep breath, removing his sword from a Genlock's body with a scrape of bone and a squelch of black blood. He surveyed the road while he cleaned it. Alistair had dismounted his horse and was trying to convince the terrified woman from before to come out of hiding. Gwyneth and Morrigan seemed no worse for wear either. As the sounds of battle ended and the seconds ticked by more refugees came out from their holes. An Elvhen couple with two small children. Two Dwarves, father and son by the look of them. A couple of Humans, men, women and children.

The woman became hysterical when Alistair managed to coax her out, looking around frantically. "Dana, Maeve. Oh my babies where are you!?"

"Momma," came some cries and two young girls, between five and ten, rushed from the small shocked crowd into their mothers waiting arms, all three sobbing in fear and relief. August walked over to them, but did not interfere at the heart warming scene. The woman noticed him and Alistair in her own time.

"Oh Ser's, thank you, thank you so much. I am indebted to you." She thanked, keeping her children close as they too clung to her.

"It's okay." He managed to smile, raising his hands. "I am only glad that we were here in time."

"Shall we be on our way then?" Morrigan asked, impatient. "Your good deed is done for the day Wardens, Lothering awaits."

"You can't be serious," Alistair shot back, horrified. "We can't just leave these people to fend for themselves. What if another band of Darkspawn attack?"

"'Tis none of our concern," Morrigan sniffed. "If we dawdle any longer we won't be able to reach Lothering before nightfall."

"No, Alistair's right," August cut in, to his fellow Wardens relief and Morrigan's ire. He turned to the small crowd, seeing their own relief written on their ashen faces. "We can't leave them to fend for themselves. Salvage whatever you can but be quick about it."

As the group of refugees hurried about their task, putting out the fires and trying to salvage the wagons and belongings Morrigan marched straight up to him and looked him in the eye. "I hope this is not a sign of things to come Warden."

"Are you completely heartless?" Alistair asked, fuming. Gwyneth soon joined them, looking at the confrontation with wide eyes.

"Not at all," Morrigan replied, not looking at the former Templar but her catlike eyes were fixed on his. "I am simply playing Demons advocate. Our mission should be our first priority, finding these allies and showing them the treaties. We cannot help every poor soul on the road lest we will never reach our goal."

"I agree," August replied, taking both Morrigan and Alistair aback. "We can't be expected to save everyone from the dangers of the world. But the duties of the Grey Wardens are to fight and defeat Darkspawn wherever we find them. We have done that but I will never allow innocents to suffer at these monsters hands. We are going the same way they are Morrigan, at worst we'll be held back by a few hours."

Morrigan huffed, "Very well, do as you wish."

"Thank you," August replied with mock thanks before turning to the second and, by far, more agreeable Mage of their party. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, just a little winded," she replied, flushing a little. "I nearly fell off my horse."

Morrigan sniggered, ignoring Alistair's glare.

It wasn't long before the refugees were able to salvage what they could, of the three wagons one was unusable and had to be left behind. What belongings not burned or broken were piled into the other two, as were the children and the elderly. August had to intervene to allow the Elvhen children onto the last cart because the driver started a fuss, picking them up and placing them there himself to let anyone who felt otherwise know he wasn't having any backtalk. When he said the children rode in the carts he meant _all_ of them.

The driver grumbled about quick little knife-ears stealing his possessions, but said little else. The nobleman had saved their lives he supposed, and he could be accommodating to the man. The Elf couple thanked him profusely, faces downcast and afraid to look him in the eye. Once everyone was ready his party mounted their horses and led the convoy down the Imperial Highway. They were soon joined by others, seeing a group of refugees under armed protection and wishing to be a part of it. By the time Lothering appeared on the horizon their numbers had doubled.

More than a few looked uncertainly at the Mages within his party, some in curiosity and others in fear but August chose not to make a point of rising to the bait and with time they were half forgotten. Nobody seemed to want to make a big deal of it but as they reached the turnoff to the village they seemed relieved to be away from them.

Lothering was a small village, originally with a population of maybe a few hundred but with the Darkspawn and the army fighting in the South the place was burgeoning with refugees from surrounding settlements, freeholds and farms. There were maybe a few thousand people packed into the village square and surrounding the Chantry. They left their little muster of refugees and allowed them to meld into the huge crowd, many came up to August and Alistair, offering their thanks and in some cases gifts which they gracefully declined. A few even dared give their thanks to Morrigan and Gwyneth, the former giving them unfriendly glares while the latter was deeply touched.

They dismounted just outside of the crowd, handing the reigns to Gwyneth and Morrigan and asking them to take them out of sight, maybe into the ruins just before the grand spectacle of the Imperial Highway. They nodded, not even Morrigan deciding to argue and allowed August and Alistair to wade their way into the swarm of dispossessed and desperate people.

There was more reason to August's decision than simply leaving some people with the horses. Making sure they weren't stolen by some desperate horse thieves was one thing, but he had seen the unmistakable armour of Templar's and the last thing he wanted was an unpleasant conversation with the Chantry. There was also the fact that Alistair was a former Templar-recruit and would be helpful if they needed to deal with them or the local Priest.

He was right to worry. There were a larger than usual number of Templar's in this quaint little village, all shining in their plated armour and royal purple skirt lined with gold. The symbol of their order, a flaming sword, was etched into their breastplates. He couldn't make out their features with their bucket helms but they were armed and ready for trouble. He hoped that Morrigan and Gwyneth had the good sense to stay out of their way.

They reached the entrance to the Chantry, where a few of the Templar's stood guard. they were tall, imposing and very impressive. August shouldered Alistair, and the man almost stumbled before righting himself and throwing him a half glare. "Well Alistair, lead the way."

"Me?" he asked, frowning.

August suppressed the need to shrug, "Your people. You were a Templar before joining the Wardens right?"

"Yeah, I was a _recruit_ ," Alistair countered with more than a little indignation. "I never actually became a fully fledged Templar. I think you should take it from here, you are the leader after all."

August raised his brow, "You're the Senior Warden."

"There is that," Alistair replied, scratching his cheek in obvious discomfort. "But I was never very good at leading people. You're a noble though so you'd take to the post better than I can."

"So basically you're pawning it on me?" August asked.

"Well when you put it like that." Alistair allowed.

August wasn't surprised, nor was he disappointed. At this point he would have been surprised if his fellow Warden had wanted to become the leader with what he had seen since his joining. Alistair was a capable warrior, yes, and he certainly had the ability to lead, but when the big decisions came he always deferred to others, to him especially.

With a sigh August walked past him and pushed his way towards the lead Templar. The man looked him over, but whatever he was thinking was hidden by his helmet. "Yes?"

"I am August Cousland, leading a unit of Grey Wardens." August introduced, and the man immediately took notice. "We are on our way north on official Warden business and are looking for a place to stay for the night. Is the Chantry open?"

"It is Ser Warden," the Templar replied. "But it has been closed to the outside, too many people seeking shelter within and making it difficult for us to do our duties."

"I see. Be that as it may as a Grey Warden, under the orders of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren I ask that you open your doors to me and my companions, and if not advice us where we can go for suitable accommodation." The Templar hesitated and August dived further in for the kill, "If you could inform the Revered Mother of our arrival I am sure she will open her doors to us. If she hesitates tell her that I am a Cousland of Highever, and my family have been very charitable to the earthly representatives of the Maker and our prophet Andraste over the years."

He guessed that the Templar knew the name of his family. Anyone in Ferelden who didn't know the name Cousland either had their heads firmly in the sand or were idiots, and he doubted a Templar of the Chantry, whose education rivalled that of noble houses, to not know the name of his family.

Alistair was frowning at him as he approached, "Was that really necessary, flaunting your family name?"

"If it gets the job done." August replied. "Then yes, I won't hesitate to throw my family's name around."

He looked like he wanted to reply, to complain against his methods but he said nothing and the young Cousland didn't try to force the issue. Some time past, and they spent their time watching as a young Lay Sister argued with a merchant about his prices for his wares. The argument soon got heated when she insinuated that he was taking advantage of those dispossessed by the Blight, which greatly insulted the merchant who doggedly countered that he was just trying to make a living.

August intervened before anybody did anything they would regret, calming the elderly Priest and smooth talking the merchant in bringing down his prices. They were in the middle of a Blight after all, and his good deeds would not go unnoticed by the Maker and would be rewarded. The man backed down, albeit reluctantly, and agreed to August's terms. He rejoined Alistair, happy with himself that he stopped a feud before it got ugly.

The Templar reappeared soon after, and asked if they would kindly accompany him to the Chantry to meet the Revered Mother. August and Alistair shared a look, August in triumph and Alistair with reluctant respect before both agreed and followed the man into the building. They entered the Chantry courtyard and past a mad rambler, probably a deserter from the army who had gone mad upon glimpsing the Darkspawn.

The interior of the Chantry was certainly grand for a village chapel, a long wide hall with great pillars of stone keeping up the arched ceiling. The pews had all been removed, whether into storage or thrown out August could not tell. There were some refugees, but by their clothes and manner he guessed they were minor nobles or well off freeholders. There were Priests and Templar's as well, the young women crowded into small huddles of whispering while the larger, more impressive Templar's seemed to be gathered in one large cluster, speaking and planning amongst themselves.

Their Templar escort led the way, past the refugees, past the priest and passed the throng of Templar's towards the rear. The corridor branched off into two directions, one into a mass of pushed back bookcases and the other into a small room, it was in the small room where the Templar took them and sitting on a simple chair in the middle was the Revered Mother, young for a woman of her rank but still middle-aged with the beginnings of lines on her features and grey in her dark hair.

"Welcome Grey Wardens," she greeted, closing the book she was reading and placing it on her lap. "I apologise for the delay. As you can imagine recent events have been hectic."

August smiled warmly, "Not at all, Revered Mother. These are trying times."

"I am glad you understand." She replied. "Word has reached us of the events at Ostagar, certainly you are both to be commended for your part in such a victory against the forces of evil."

"We thank you for such kind words."

"Well met," the priest replied. "However I doubt you are here to share stories of the events at the tower. How may the Chantry assist two of its sons?"

"We require rest and a safe place for our horses." August explained, hands clasped behind his back, trying to look as intimidating and business like as possible. "Would it be possible for us to gain such accommodation?"

"Off course, one would not wish to argue with Grey Wardens in the middle of a Blight." She replied. Relief flooded August at her words, not as bad as he originally thought. Such thoughts were short-lived however. "However as you can see from the outside we have been trying to deal with an ever growing number of refugees. They are currently assembling around Lothering with nowhere else to go."

"And why won't they continue north?" August asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Because dangers have become known further north," the Revered Mother replied, pained yet respectful. The perfect image of a village priest who cared for her flock. "Bandits have set up camp, just out of the way of the main road so as to remain hidden from any Levies or armoured groups who move through. There are also rumours of a nest of unnaturally large spiders and bands of Darkspawn preying on the people. The refugees are simply too scared to move beyond the safety of the village."

August listened intently, surely sympathising before a thought struck him, "Why haven't you dispatched the Templar's to deal with these obstacles. There are at least a full platoons worth from what I have seen."

She blinked, a slight spatter of surprise on her otherwise calm and sympathetic features. "I have attempted to assemble such a patrol, but with the number of refugees flooding the village it has been all we can do to keep law and order."

Her argument wasn't devoid of reason or merit, without armed protectors the people would surely panic and terrible things happened when people panicked. After a moment August sighed, "Very well, grant us your help with the Maker's grace and we will aide you in dealing with your problems."

Her features softened, "I thank you, Grey Wardens."

August nodded, feeling another headache coming on. "Where can we go to learn more about these threats? Has anyone tried before."

She nodded, "A few have attempted to clear the way, armed local-folk mostly, but only a few came back. Those who did went to the local tavern and haven't come out since. It's just past the bridge connecting us to the main portion of the village, to the right of the main road."

That headache he was sure he was outrunning, it was back.

* * *

They left the Chantry and reached the small series of ruins where Morrigan and Gwyneth had been waiting for them only to find that a standoff was brewing. The two of them were being accosted by a trio of Templar's, all with their hands on the pummels of their swords and trying to convince the two to come quietly or face the Maker's justice.

Gwyneth was obviously afraid of the Templar's, shying away from their armoured forms, but Morrigan was anything but. She was right up in the leaders face, leaning on her tiptoes so he wouldn't have to look down at her. Her face was a snarl of annoyance which probably wasn't helping matters. "If I didn't know better I would think you deaf. I will repeat again. We are travelling under the banner of the Grey Wardens!"

Her words seemed to be having little effect on the man confronting her, if anything he drew his sword, "You will come with us Mage, do not struggle and no more lies."

A peel of laughter, taunting and making obvious her opinion of this man. Her hands were already crackling with power. "Tis obvious that words are meaningless to you, foolish oaf."

If her show of power was meant to instil fear it did the exact opposite, and August spotted one of them removing his hand from the hilt of his weapon, raising it to the sky and calmly if quietly preparing a Holy Smite. He had seen a Templar use that on a Mage once, long ago when he was but a child and Highever was still ruled by his family. It was not something he was keen to see repeated again in his presence.

"Enough," he called. He and Alistair closing the distance, standing between the Mages and the Templar's. "I am August Cousland and this is Alistair. We are Grey Wardens on a mission concerning the Blight. These Mage's are here at our request."

The three Templar's looked between each other, trying to understand the development that a pair of Mages without the supervision of their order were allowed to wander freely. It had taken some persuading, and a document he had obtained, albeit reluctantly, from Revered Mother Agatha that what they were saying was genuine, still they hesitated and August asked very civilly that if they were so spoiling for a fight then try somewhere else.

That got their attention, and the leader uttered half-hearted apologies before the three of them turned and vanished into the crowd of refugees. Even with them gone he knew he couldn't make such a mistake as to leave Morrigan and Gwyneth alone and unguarded in front of Chantry personnel every again.

With that potential disaster averted he explained to them the situation. That the Revered Mother would be happy to offer them accommodation and re-supply but first they needed to do some errands for her concerning the issues to the north.

Morrigan scoffed at the notion of more grunt work.

"Tis most vexing that we are expected to resolve the issues of another group of people, is it not?" She certainly was letting everyone know about it. "I mean really, can't these civilised bumpkins deal with their own conundrums? Isn't there a fully functional brain among them that can come up with a solution?"

"To answer your questions Morrigan yes, we are going to resolve these people's problems for them." August replied, irritated as his little band of misfits crossed the bridge between the Chantry and Lothering itself. "The nice Revered Mother in the Chantry was pretty adamant that we clear the Imperial Highway or sleep on the ground."

"The Revered Mother didn't say that!" Alistair exclaimed, more than a little askance.

"She didn't, but she meant it." August replied.

Morrigan sighed, "Very well, who am I to revoke the decisions of the leader."

August sighed, "We'll have to deal with this eventually Morrigan. I'd rather clear them out first before making a run to Orzammar."

The Witch scoffed but remained silent, to which August was thankful. He was right even though Morrigan couldn't see it. They would have had to travel up that road eventually, and he would rather do it without Darkspawn or Bandits ambushing them on the way.

The tide of refugees thinned here, but they still lined the main alleys and village square. August once again saw what the Blight was doing to normal people. He saw families huddled together, some whole and some asking where a mother, a father or a child was. He saw fear and terror in the eyes of most, that even with the news of the army's victory at Ostagar they were going to need more solid evidence of security, more than the twenty odd Templar's the local priestess had at her control.

Loghain needed to send men here, whether to protect the refugees or make sure he didn't lose such an important supply post in Lothering. A Company of men would be needed, but if they could protect the village and the surrounding roads then a supply route would be secured and his army would be supplied and safe from being outflanked. He would need to send a messenger south to inform the Teyrn.

Finally they came to the tavern, a large building compared to the others surrounding it. By quizzing the two guards up front they found why the building wasn't swamped with people. The owner of the tavern at first let in as many as he could, but threw out everyone without coin when he found they were stealing anything that could be hidden inside a cloak. Now only those with coin could enter, with two large and dangerous looking men armed with makeshift swords making sure that remained so.

How did you get in? Show these guards that you had coin. It was easy enough for them. It didn't take long for them to find the men they were looking for either. There were three of them, all drunk and inebriated by the time they found them, crowded around a table laden with empty mugs and tankards, barely able to stand let alone look up at you.

By buying them a few drinks their tongues loosened up enough to tell them what happened. He had wisely chosen not to take Alistair or Morrigan on this particular mission. Alistair because as a former Templar he probably wouldn't agree with negotiations with alcohol, and Morrigan because he doubted she had an understanding bone in her body. So he choose Gwyneth to come with him and his opinion seemed to be justified. She was a pretty face who knew when to talk and when to keep quiet.

There were twelve of them at the start, all young men who had delusions of grandeur and visions of glory. They didn't volunteer to march with their Bann, weren't there for the noble victory at Ostagar, so they had something to prove. They gathered what arms they could and set out to deal with the threats to their village, hopefully to allow the refugees to clear out and leave them in peace.

They had no idea who they were dealing with. They decided to hit the bandit camp first, and were massacred for their trouble. It soon became apparent that they weren't dealing with your usual vagabonds but those who had seen combat, maybe deserters from the army. Only four of the twelve made it back to the village alive, and the fourth had died in the square.

August took the information in stride as the men divulged it, hoping in the deepest recesses of his heart that the men assailing these people weren't from Highever, for if they were it would be more than he or his family could bear. He thanked them for their information, gave them enough coin to keep their binge session going for a little longer and headed for the entrance.

Gwyneth followed him, eyes downcast and thoughts awhirl with pity. "They're beaten, completely and utterly."

"Yes, I know." August replied. She had seen it in the eyes of those young men just as well as he did, once full of a need to do the right thing by their people and now they were broken wreaks getting drunk to make their pain and horror disappear. "We can't do anything for them. For now all we can do is our part to make sure that this doesn't happen again. Not around here."

"Yes, you're right." She replied.

With that August lead them away only for their path to be blocked by a young woman of the Chantry. She was a beautiful woman, dressed in the garb of a Chantry Lay Sister.

"You are the Grey Warden, yes?" She asked.

"Yes, I am." He replied.

"Then I wish to come with you, if you will have me." She said, looking at him intently.

August blinked in surprise at the request, before turning to Gwyneth. She had paled at the very sight of the Sister. He didn't blame her for the reaction if his own suspicions of her ordeal with the Templar's were true. He placed an arm on her shoulder, which shook her from her thoughts and asked her to wait outside with the others. She nodded and did so, throwing one last look at the Lay Sister.

"Why would you stand with us?" He asked.

She looked at him for a long moment, "Because the Maker told me too."

August blinked, his mind barely able to comprehend what he had heard. "The Maker told you to come and help?"

"Yes, and I know how that must sound but please hear me out." She replied, and continued on before he could muster a retort. " It is the duty of the Wardens to hunt down the Darkspawn, yes? And after Ostagar I know that you're going to need all the help you can get, and that's why I'm coming along."

August had noticed two more Sisters behind her, looking at the younger woman's back smugly. He fought back the urge to frown before meeting her big blue eyes. "I am thankful for your show of support Sister, but you do know it is going to be dangerous."

"Yes." She replied nodding.

"There will be fighting, bloodshed and death. It will be no place for a Lay Sister of the Chantry." He shook his head.

"But I can fight, and it is the Maker's will that I come so I-"

One of the older Sisters stepped forward, a hand gripping onto the younger woman's arm as she looked at him apologetically. "That is enough Sister Leliana, come along now. Please excuse us Lord Warden, she is a little out of sorts."

Leliana pulled her arm away, "I know it sounds insane. I know this and yet I will not shy away from it. What you are doing, fighting the Blight, is the Maker's work and I want to help."

He sent a hard gaze the other Sister's way when he saw her companion sniggering before turning back to Leliana. Even if she didn't have all her eggs in one basket she had still come forward with a sincere wish to help him, help them, which was more than he had seen from the rest of Lothering thus far. Such a person was to be commended, and not made fun off behind her back.

"Sister Leliana, I thank you for your support and wish to help, but I stand by my words that the dangers ahead are no place for a Lady of the Chantry. Please think of us in your prayers to the Maker." He offered.

"But I can fight. I put that life behind me when I joined the Chantry but I can fight. You need all the help you can get. let me help." She pleaded, only for him to shake his head. Her accent, he remembered where he heard it before. It was undeniably Orlesian. Why such a woman was here in Lothering was beyond him.

"I am sorry but no," he turned to the door, turning his head slightly to her. "And that is all I will say on the matter."

Alistair and the others were waiting for him outside. "What was that all about?"

"Just a young Lay Sister who wished to volunteer," August replied.

"Maker, you didn't take her up on the offer did you?"

His response was a scathing glare, "Off course not, the battlefield is no place for a Lay Sister."

"Tis true, she would only get in our way." Morrigan drawled. Gwyneth seemed to have calmed down from her run in with the Sister, colour was slowly returning to her. He would need to speak to her, find out if she was alright.

He eyed the witch for a moment before looking at the main road out of Lothering. Dagger trotted up and sat by his side, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching down and scratching that sweet spot behind his ears that he liked. "Get your weapons together. We have bandits and Darkspawn to kill."

* * *

 _Special thanks to ArtanisRose, Impstar, Chimera Spyke, Leaf Ranger, Jarjaxle, Judy and_ _lupusadaquilonem_ _for the reviews. I love it when people place their opinions on how the story progresses, makes it easier for me to write._

 _The original Dragonage story was great, really an enjoyable game with the six different origin stories. I always felt that the plot afterwards was a little bland and seemed to follow an exact course regardless of who you choose. The only differences were the odd additional line uttered by a character, which annoyed me. It would have been great if they added special missions or new characters and events added depending on who you start as. That would have turned a good game into a great game in my opinion. If they ever did a remake of Origins that would be what I want, alongside your own character having a voice._

 _As to my misinterpretation of Legion of the Dead that was indeed intended, as there would be a lack of information between the Dwarves and the races on the surface, all information would be given through books of people who travelled there to learn, mostly scholars of the few Universities and Chantry Archivists, and a lot of history can be misinformed by something as simple as a mistake in translation. Be ready for more than a few of these 'mistakes' in future._

 _As to pairings just be warned. I am not giving anything away. There will be pairings but as to who I will allow the speculation to run its course. You will not get anything from me loyal fans until I place it into the story._

 _Once again special thanks to the reviews, and the likes and alerts as well. They all mean a lot to me. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and will look forward to the next._

 _Thanks everyone._


	7. Confessions

_**Chapter 6**_

 _ **Confessions**_

" _Ugh_ , it's in my hair," Morrigan fumed, picking yet another piece of weed from her still drying dark strands. "Tis most aggravating. Get it off!"

Alistair didn't follow up with a quip but looked at the small assortment of structures. "Lothering, it never looked so good!"

August had to agree with his fellow Wardens assessment. After the whole trek through the foothills, the battles they had fought and the prattle he had to endure Lothering looked a hell of a lot more attractive than it did when he first laid eyes on it. The Tavern in particular looked very inviting, so long as the refugees hadn't made off with all the Ale and Wine. He really needed a drink after this.

He had a feeling he wouldn't be hard pressed to find some drinking companions. Morrigan was still picking pieces of bog from herself, scowling at each piece in open disgust before flicking it away. Alistair found the whole spectacle very amusing, even though he looked ready to drop his heavy arms and armour and fall asleep on the road. Gwyneth was worse, her time in the cramped tower had not done her a lot of good when it came to stamina, and she was using her staff as a walking stick as she slowly trudged along. Even Dagger looked tired, licking black blood from his chops.

The only one of their little party who didn't look like they were about to collapse was their newest recruit. If anything she looked rejuvenated, like she had taken a nice long nap when they weren't looking. Leliana practically skipped along, smiling prettily, her bow and half empty arrow quiver strapped across her back. August didn't know whether to admire her for her stamina or to smack her for looking so damn _happy_.

They had found the bandits easily enough, and it didn't take much to send them on their way. They weren't too far from the Village, hidden behind a series of trees and a burnt out freehold. Apparently they had made their living by threatening refugees of their coin as they were travelling north across the highway, and were hiding here because the Redcliffe men-at-arms were moving through.

The leader of the group, an oily little snot who thought himself suave and dashing tried to fleece them off their coin under pain of death. Then his hired muscle, whom August guessed was smarter than he appeared, pointed out that he recognised him and Alistair as the two Grey Wardens who lit the pyre at Ishal and paved the way for the armies victory against the Darkspawn. August was continuously impressed that such information had gotten this far, but it apparently did.

From there it was easy enough to convince them to go on their way. He even introduced Morrigan and Gwyneth as two bloodthirsty battle-mages who burned and froze whole legions of the monsters. More than a little theatrical he would admit but it did the trick. He even planted the idea into their heads that they should head south and join the army. The more armed men sent there the better.

They packed up quickly and headed south. August hoped that they would join the army. He even gave them a Letter of Marque should they actually be former soldiers turned deserters. Should stop them from being hung or run through on sight.

They continued north. August learning to tune out the continuous barbed words of Morrigan and Alistair as they searched for the elusive band of Darkspawn who were hiding in the hills. They eventually found them. Hidden behind a steep bluff, on the shores of a small lake. A dozen Hurlock and Genlock troops lead by an Emissary.

Morrigan and Gwyneth managed to fire off a few fireballs into the group before they turned and retaliated. At least three were rolling on the ground, flames burning their horrid skin before the rest charged them. The Emissary remained behind his creatures, long crooked hands shining a sickly green as he returned the Mages fire with that of his own.

Still their Mages continued firing balls of flame into the approaching pack, singing skin and picking off the few in the rear before what was left of them reached him and Alistair. The two Grey Wardens managed to sidestep the first few who rushed them and dispatched them easily with their swords. Dagger barrelled into the nearest monster, jaws clamping down on a throat, ripping and tearing.

A ball of green fire flew overhead, exploding right beside Morrigan. The concussive force tossed her into the lake with a cut off cry of surprise, cursing and thrashing to put out the few flames which caught her clothes.

The Emissary looked up, and prepared another fireball. It probably would have succeeded had an arrow not pierced his abdomen. His attention was diverted just enough to look at the top of the bluff, and have another arrow puncture it's right eye socket in a spurt of black blood. Leliana was on the top of the steep hill, already notching another arrow and loosing it into the thinning group of Darkspawn.

Morrigan was soon up, and showed the surviving fiends the depths of her ire as she changed into a bear and barrelled into the last few remaining fiends, suddenly changing her weapons from fire and ice to teeth and claws to great effect. Every strike of her paws removed a limb, every gnashing of her teeth sent spouts of blood and gore. Dagger backed away a moment, whining, then growled a warning before turning and running down a Hurlock, taking Morrigan's sudden fury as a challenge to outdo her in the disembowelling competition.

August looked at the transformation, at first in abject terror, and then with a crooked smile of satisfaction. If Morrigan hadn't impressed him before she certainly had now. Alistair looked at the rampaging bear with wide eyes and a gaping mouth while Gwyneth's face was unreadable. When the battle was over Morrigan changed back to her human form panting, body covered in gore which she removed by rushing into the lake and diving in, scrubbing mercilessly at her unblemished skin.

Leliana skidded down the mountain, coming to stop before him and asked with a little smug satisfaction if he thought she would still get in the way. He admitted otherwise, apologised to her and asked her to join their party much to Gwyneth's paling features and Morrigan's scoff of annoyance as she stepped out of the lake and shook herself.

Hence here they were, a small ragtag group returning to the small village. Two Grey Wardens, an Apostate, a Circle Mage, a Chantry Lay-sister and a Mabari War-hound. Not exactly what one would expect when it came to social circles.

August looked back at Leliana, now more sure than ever that she hadn't always been a simple Lay-Sister of the Chantry. Lay-Sisters weren't trained in using a bow and arrow, they didn't shoot well or fight as well either. A former soldier, or maybe a Bard came to mind. Orlesian Bards were notorious for many skills beyond music and dance, and make no mistake she was undeniably _Orlesian_ by her accent alone.

He would need to watch her _very_ carefully.

But she had offered her help, and Grey Wardens took help wherever they could find it. Nothing was beneath them so long as it meant the defeat of the Archdemon and the end of the Blight. She would need some proper armour, and not those cumbersome Priestly robes she was prancing around in.

He decided to tell her as much. "If you're going to join us you'll need to lose the robes and get some proper armour."

"That is a smart decision, I admit." She replied, looking at her clothes with a forlorn expression. "As comfortable as these are they wouldn't do well in a fight. There is a blacksmith still in town, and he had some basic leather wares when last I looked, shall I go there?"

"That would be a good idea," August allowed before looking up at the darkening sky, the setting sun in particular. They would need to make sure their new companion was ready for the trip, but not now. All he wanted right now was a place to sleep.

Dagger was by his side, licking his chops and content. August eyed his friend closely, glad he had not been injured in the fight, before reaching down idly to scratch the back of his ear. The Mabari enjoyed the attention.

"Now isn't that interesting," Morrigan murmured, eyes transfixed on something on the road.

August followed her line of sight, settling on a large cage made of strong iron bars. Within was perhaps the largest example of a man he had ever seen, dressed in little more than rags. He had a stoic air about him despite his situation. The man did pique August's interests, but Morrigan seemed to be far more interested, sauntering over to the cage.

The man seemed to be in a state of meditation. He sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, eyes closed and face set in stern concentration. He opened them, revealing dark eyes, dead eyes, warriors eyes. He stood up and surveyed them, towering over them. August felt a little intimidated despite the iron bars between him and this giant.

"You are not one of my captors. I will not amuse you anymore than the other humans. Leave me in peace?" He said, voice deep and gravelly.

August blinked, frowning. "I am not here to torment you."

"Then what other cause can you have for coming to me?" The Giant asked, frowning.

"My friends curiosity." He replied, eyeing the Witch thoughtfully as she studied the man. "Who are you? Why are you in a cage?"

"I have been placed in this cage by the Chantry. I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the Qunari peoples."

"My name is August, and this is Morrigan." He introduced in turn.

"You mock me, or you have shown manners I have not come to expect from your lands." Sten replied, a little surprised. "Though it matters little now. I will die here soon enough."

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the Darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone." Morrigan said, her voice practically smothered in pity. It was kind of disturbing.

"Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that from you." Alistair quipped.

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage." There we go.

"Yes. That's what I would have expected."

"I suggest you leave me to my fate." Sten interceded, but his voice didn't convey annoyance or irritation but acceptance. He was certain he was going to die, and had made peace with it.

"What did you do to end up in here?" August asked.

"I have been convicted of murder, have the villagers not spoken of it." Sten replied.

Murder, in this time and place it wasn't uncommon he supposed. "Are you guilty?"

"Are you asking if I feel guilt or if I am responsible for the deed? However I feel, whatever I've done, my life is forfeit now."

August frowned as he studied the man, unable to read him. His next question seemed taken from his very mouth by Gwyneth, who was standing a little to the side of the group, eyeing the man as critically as he was them. "Who did you kill?"

"The inhabitants of a farmhold. Eight humans including the children." he replied.

"That's horrible." She murmured, after a moment of stunned silence.

August would have to agree. "It must have been difficult to capture you."

"There is no difficulty in capturing prey that surrenders."

He murdered the occupants of a farmhold, but instead of fleeing he stayed at the place of the crime and then surrendered when the authorities arrived. August admitted he was intrigued as much as he was appalled. "How long have you been in here?"

"Twenty days now." The giant replied. "I shouldn't last much longer. Another week at most."

"Aren't you interested in atoning for your crimes?" August asked.

"Death will be my atonement." the Qunari replied.

"You prefer to die then?"

"I _prefer_ to die in battle. But my choices have been made for me."

"I see," August replied, nodding his head. "I will leave you to your atonement then. Farewell, Sten of the Beresaad."

"Farewell, then." Sten replied before taking no further notice of them. He sat in his cell and continued his vigilance.

They continued walking further into Lothering, August's mind thinking. The man was a murderer, but that in itself showed he had skill, and he was a warrior of the Qunari. He had heard of them from time to time. A race of horned giants who lived in the far north, forever at war with the Tevinter Imperium and looking to expand further into Thedas. It was his first time seeing a member of the Qunari.

"A penitent man left to be torn to pieces by Darkspawn. Tis a fine example of the mercy of the Chantry yes?" Morrigan continued, now walking in step with him. August looked over to her, frowning at the glint in her amber eyes. Leliana did not reply, or rebuke her.

"Being penitent does not change what he has done Morrigan." August replied stonily. The faces of his family, friends and servants pierced his mind. "An entire family is dead by his actions. Men, women and children whose light has been snuffed out before their time. Leliana, did this man do what the charges say?"

The red haired Sister seemed a little surprised at being called upon, but nodded. "Yes, the men who arrived on the scene swore to it before the Maker. It was strange though. When they found him he was sitting in the middle of the carnage, and surrendered without resistance. When the Revered Mother handed him the sentence he did not rebuke or resist when they placed him in the cage. I believe he does feel guilt for what he has done. That he does wish to atone."

"I see," he replied, thoughtful for a long moment before turning back to Morrigan. "True, he is perhaps a great warrior, but I am weary of working with a man who killed an entire family without mercy or cause."

Morrigan glared at him, but did not say anything further.

* * *

The Revered Mother was more than amicable when they returned with news that the bandits and Darkspawn had been cleared from the Imperial Highway. Leliana's testimony added the additional weight to defeat any further objections. The Chantry was theirs to sleep in tonight, though it would be hard timber pews and cold stone floors it was better than the chilly night air outside.

Alistair was the first to fall asleep out of the group, on a pew with a blanket covering him, his snores almost echoing through the empty hall. Leliana was next, obviously feeling comfortable and safe within these stone walls. Morrigan looked about the building, it's stained glass windows and hallowed items with barely hidden contempt, but eventually turned in herself. Gwyneth was quiet and sombre, even hesitating when they first entered the Church. Sleep seemed to be the last thing on her mind, awake and sitting, eyes darting back and forth as if searching for threats.

August was about to fall asleep himself when he saw her state, and decided that he needed to talk to her about this now, more than ever. He sat up, the old wood of the pew creaking from his movement. It caught her attention, head snapping in his direction, hair flailing, eyes wide and fearful before relaxing minutely when she realised it was him. Embarrassment followed, and while he admitted she was cute with a flushed face he would continue.

He got up and walked over to her, placing a hand on her thin shoulder. "Can we talk for a moment?"

She started, blushed and nodded.

He led her down the main hall and to the left, passed a small series of high bookshelves and stacked pews. The building was quiet, it's occupants either asleep in their quarters or on watch in the village.

He found a couple of chairs for them, and sat her down despite her weak protestations. It would be better than on the cold stone floor. He looked her over, seeing her discomfort and borderline panic in the way she fidgeted. The girl he remembered was still there, but at the same time she had suffered something she shouldn't have too.

How to start such a conversation? Harass her with questions? What happened to you? What did they do? Why are you scared? Did you really leave the Circle without approval? Why did you come to Ostagar? Why don't you talk to us? Why don't you hate me? He had so many questions for her, both practical and nonsensical but finally decided on the most obvious beginning possible.

"Are you alright?"

She started, looking at him with big ethereal blue eyes. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, shut it, looked to the side, then back to him. Finally she took a deep breath. "I am fine, Ser Warden."

"Stop calling me Ser Warden," August rebuked, immediately regretting it when he saw her flinch. "My name is August. You can call me August."

She hesitated, and then nodded. "Thank you, August."

He smiled, glad that it didn't take much effort. "Why were you punished, Gwyneth?"

He knew the answer. He would have to be a complete idiot to not know, but he needed to make her say it. The words of the old crone in Ostagar flowed through his mind even as the girl before him fidgeted and hesitated. She called her an Apostate, a Malificar and a demon. She tried to make him see that she was dangerous when not inside her ivory tower. Even going so far as threatening the Rite of Tranquillity. Alistair had explained it to him before they set out on the road, and the very idea repulsed him.

Gwyneth looked at him, then averted her eyes, full of shame and guilt. "Because I left the Circle without permission."

"And how did you do that?" He asked softly. A Mage did not simply walk out of the Circle of Magi without permission. The Templar's would never allow it. She had _escaped_ the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold. Yet instead of hiding from them she travelled south, most likely alone, to Ostagar and the Blight. She wasn't answering his question, which meant she was protecting someone or some secret to escaping. So he changed his approach. "Why would you leave without permission, knowing what their reaction would be?"

She looked up at him, eyes clear. "Because I wanted to help."

It took him by surprise, how earnest and open her eyes were. It was like reading an open book.

"When word got through that there was a Blight in the south they went around asking for volunteers. Letters from the King and the Grey Wardens themselves had been sent to us asking for help. I volunteered, but was declined because I was a newly made Enchanter who had just passed her Harrowing. I was too young, or too timid, or not strong enough." She continued, looking at the stone cobbled floor in deep melancholy. "But I wanted to help. The Blight was a danger to everyone in Thedas and being inside our tower wasn't going to save us. I felt in my very being that I had to do something, _anything_!"

He watched her. She had not seen the evils or injustices of the world, wrapped up in a protective blanket and secluded from everything. She was an innocent and naive girl whose only experience of the world came from classes and books. This made her see everything in black and white. If a danger came they should confront it. If injustice prevailed it should be fought. If she had the ability to help then she should.

A pure soul.

"Gwyneth, how did you get out of the tower?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then averted her eyes. "There was another Mage. He had escaped the tower a few times before, was caught and brought back. I heard a rumour he was planning to escape again, and asked him to take me along. We managed to escape, but went our separate ways afterwards. I headed south and he went east. We had a big argument over it. I wanted to come here and show the world that a Mage wasn't a conduit for all the evils in Thedas, but he said that the world didn't deserve our help. I feel a little shame. He helped me escape and I berated him."

Another moment of melancholy, regret and guilt he saw. "If we ever meet him I think I should thank him."

She looked at him, "For what?"

"Helping you escape the tower." August replied, smiling. "If he didn't get you out you wouldn't have been there to volunteer at the tower, and I wouldn't have survived."

"You've been saying that a lot." She replied wryly.

"The truth is the truth." He shrugged. "And you don't seem to believe me when I thank you so I'll keep doing it until you do believe me."

"You don't have to do that." She replied, no longer flushing but still embarrassed.

"Does he have a name?" At her confusion he smiled and elaborated. "The Mage who helped you escape."

She blinked, and smiled. "If we meet on the road I'll introduce you."

"No names then?"

"He helped me, so I should protect him. I'm not even sure the Templar's are aware he has escaped. He was in solitary confinement on the day." Gwyneth explained. "The longer before they realise the more time he has in escaping them."

He hesitated for a long moment, unsure, before finally throwing caution to the wind. "I don't want to ask this, but did they receive the letter I sent with you?"

She caught on well enough. Her eyes dimmed and fell back to the floor. He regretted asking her, but he needed to know. "Yes."

"Did it not help at all?" He asked, suddenly filled with guilt. If he knew. If he had the power of hindsight he would have never sent her back. He would have made some excuse for her to remain in Highever's camp, maybe to continue treatment on him and then to aide with Fergus when he brought him back from Flemeth's hut. Alas such things were beyond him.

"It helped," she allowed, offering a wan smile. "Reading your letter stopped the Revered Mother from making me take the Rite of Tranquillity on the spot."

He glowered hard at the name, and it seemed to lift her spirits a little. The Rite of Tranquillity takes away a Mages ability to utilise magic and cuts them off from the Fade. It ends the possibility of demonic possession. As a side effect their emotional centre is removed, making them little else than animated dolls. It takes away their free will and ability to reason.

It was, in August's view, abhorrent. It also made his next question all the more necessary. "What did they do to you, Gwyneth?"

She was surprised by the question, and unnerved by it. She tried to smile, but it seemed so fake that it didn't convince him. "What did they do, you ask?"

"Don't lie to me," he said, looking at her suddenly paralyzed eyes. "I was there, remember?"

She looked on, horrified, but schooled her expression. "Yes, you were. I was taken before the Revered Mother first. She thanked your guards and sent them on their way. It was very respectable. Once they were gone she called a few Templar's in. They stripped me of my clothes and weapons. She said I was a disgrace to the Circle, that I was an Apostate and a monster and not worthy to see the light of day. She promised that I would be made Tranquil when I returned to the tower, if I returned at all, and then ordered the Templar's to teach me a lesson. They... did things."

August placed his head in his hands, unable to look at the haunted expression on her face. "If you don't want to continue-"

"No, I will." She replied, unshed tears which she refused to spill. "I won't allow what was done to me to remain silent and forgotten. They beat me. It felt like hours. Then they dragged me into a supply tent and tied me to a poll. I must have remained there for quite some time. I fell asleep and when I woke up there was a man, one of _them_... panting over me. I-I felt... such shame!"

She cried out the last part, and then placed her face into her hands and sobbed, tears streaming along her cheeks at the memory of that horrible event. The man before her didn't reply. There was no pleasantries or apologies or even suggestions that what was done to her was justified. But she couldn't look up for the longest time, not until her tears dried up and all that was left was dry choking sobs.

Finally, when she couldn't cry any longer she looked up, only to see the very personification of wrath looking back at her. August Cousland looked back at her, in shock and pity, which quickly morphed into anger and rage. It wasn't aimed at her, she felt that, but at those who did that to her. His words cut through to her like a sharp knife through warm butter. "Who was it? Who did it?"

She shied away from him. "I don't know, he wore his helmet. I didn't see his face."

"If I find out who did that to you," August told her, deadly serious. "I will kill him."

She sat there, surprised and terrified that someone would listen to her crazy demands. "No, you can't. Whoever he was is unknown to me, and he is a Templar of the Chantry. He will be beyond reach."

"I don't care," August replied. "He hurt you."

"I know he hurt me, but you can't allow that to distract you, not now." She cried. It hurt, it hurt so much to ignore what was done for her but she had to look past that, at the threats assailing them at this very moment. "This is beyond something as simple as me. The Blight threatens all of Thedas. Your focus should be on stopping it and not looking for revenge for someone like me. Don't worry about me. You conscripted me. I am now out of their hands and they can never hurt me ever again."

Outside of the room, behind a wall a Templar stood. He had come here because he too could not sleep and opted to read a book from the small library instead. Ser Bryant had heard everything as a result, and now he stood in the darkness, listening to what had been done by someone under the protection of his order.

"Gwyneth," August murmured. He saw her shake her head, fighting between vengeance and the world and choosing the world.

"Defeating the Blight comes first in everything," She replied at last. "If we don't stop the Archdemon then the world will burn. Untold innocent people will suffer and die. We cannot allow that to happen, so all other disputes and regrets become mute. I can live with it, so please ignore it and do what needs to be done. Gather allies, recruit more Grey Wardens and help the Teyrn and Ferelden in ending the Blight. I am now a Grey Warden, and will follow you."

From the darkness Ser Bryant shook himself and returned to his quarters. In an alcove above a Hawk watched, at first with sharp eyes looking for advantage and finally with that of pity. Perhaps she could stop taunting the little Circle Mage, obviously she had suffered enough.

"Yes, you are a Grey Warden." August said as he rose to his feet and walked over to her. He fell to a knee and offered his hand to the befuddled Mage. "Will you join me Gwyneth, and help me defeat this evil."

She took a deep breath, her fear and anger weakened by her confession and offered him a brave smile. Her hand was entangled in his as she took the oath. "I will."

"Then stand with me, as a Mage and Warden of Ferelden." He took her hand and helped her to her feet. "Together we will end the Blight."

* * *

He awoke with the dawn and sat up in bed. Daggers huge head was on his lap, which he pushed aside carefully. All around him were still sound asleep, so he did not wake them. Instead he quietly got up, washed and dressed in his armour before walking through the hall, out of the Chantry and into the morning air.

The sun was rising in the west, a red ball dipping over the horizon, and already some people were up and moving. Not very many though, most were still sleeping, huddled together in small tents or out in the open air in the village square and in the surrounding streets, side alleys and whatever houses they were allowed to enter with the owner's consent.

August watched it, breathing in deep breathes of cold air to remove what was left of his drowsiness. The door opened with a quiet creak, and another figure joined him at the top of the steps. It was Alistair, likewise fully armed and armoured, ready for whatever the day would bring.

"We're leaving today." August said after a moment.

"yes. That sounds right." Alistair replied.

"Saddle them up."

"You got it, Senior Warden."

Senior Warden, huh?

Alistair descended the stone steps towards the stables, and August was about to re-enter the Chantry, to wake up his party. He stopped just as he was about to turn, for he saw a figure rushing towards the village from a distance, right beside the huge stone structure which was the Imperial Highway. Slowly the figure turned from a black dot in the distance to a thin young man, running and panting and shouting.

There were three Templar's guarding the entrance to the Chantry, and August descended the steps to join them. They already saw the man approach, and turned their bucket shaped helmets to look at him. Now that he was closer they saw him waving and heard him shouting. He was covered in blood, they saw, and had a bloodied dagger in his hand which he was waving frantically.

The blood was black.

"Wake my Wardens, the Revered Mother and the Knight-Captain." He ordered just as Dagger appeared at his side, growling and gnashing. The Templar's looked at each other for a moment before two turned on their heel and ascended the steps of the Chantry. He turned his gaze to the last Templar. "You with me. Let's meet him half way."

"Y-yes Ser Warden."

They met him halfway, just where the Imperial Highway branched off to the dirt track which led to the village. The very same track he and his party had used after their ride to Ostagar. The man was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, and dropped the bloodied sword when they rushed to his side. He was panting and tired, his clothes splattered with red and black blood.

"Thank the Maker I made it in time!" He panted.

"Are you alright?" The Templar asked.

The man shook his head, "No time for that. You need to get out of here!"

"Why, what's wrong!?" August asked.

"Darkspawn!" He almost shouted, what little composure he had quickly turning to panic before their eyes. "There's a large pack of them coming!"

"How many?" August asked.

"I don't know. I don't know!" The man all but cried, hands on knees as he took huge gulps of air. "I was part of a refugee group, escaping the battle in the south. Taking the Imperial Highway. They fell on us, hacking and slashing. I was just able to get away with my life!"

August and the Templar looked at each other, before they led the man back to the safety of the village and the Chantry. Ser Bryant was just coming out of the church, barely dressed and more than a little confused. "What in the name of the Maker is going on!?"

"Darkspawn," the Templar shouted as they ran towards him. "Darkspawn have been sighted in the hills and are coming towards Lothering."

Bryant was silent for a moment, eyes wide, and then he was bellowing orders. Shouting into the Chantry and ordering his men to get armed and armoured. August ignored the man's frantic shouts as he crashed through the heavy doors and back into the Chantry. His own ragtag group were just waking up.

"Morrigan," he shouted. She looked over at him, drowsy and confused. He remembered the adventure in the foothills north of the village, when she turned into a bear and ripped Darkspawn limb from limb. "Can you shape shift into anything that can fly!?"

She blinked, and then smirked. "Off course. Tis a trifle with someone of my skills."

"Then do it." August ordered. "We have reason to believe that there's a band of Darkspawn coming from Ostagar. I want to know if they are coming, in what numbers and what types to expect. Can you do that!?"

She huffed, "Tis an easy task."

She did so as he skidded to a halt. Her very form shrinking, growing feathers, hands turning to wings and feet to claws. When he came to a stop a hawk fluttered up and landed on his stretched out right forearm, glaring at everyone within sight with sentient amber eyes. She glanced down at a surprised August and pecked him in impatience. August obliged and walked out into the open, releasing the Witch into the air.

"That is impressive." Ser Bryant conceded.

August nodded, "She'll let us know if there is Darkspawn out there and how many. Can we count on you and your Templar's in helping us?"

"Off course," Bryant replied, nodding. "You have me and my Templar's against this threat."

August nodded, "Very good, step to it Knight-Captain!"

Bryant nodded and called over one of his Templar's. A few choice words and the man was off, into the cathedral, roaring and shouting for every man and woman who called themselves Templar to wake up, suit up and prepare for battle. By the time Morrigan returned the courtyard of the Chantry was full of armed and armoured individuals including two Grey Wardens, a Mage, a Mabari, a Lay-Sister armed with a bow and twenty Templar's.

Morrigan flew down, perched on August's arm and then transformed back into her human form, ignoring the surprised grunts of those present as she turned to August. "There is indeed Darkspawn out there, between sixty to seventy of them. They mainly consist of the usual fodder, warriors with some archers, but with a few Alphas and Emissaries leading them."

"How long before they get here?"

"An hour, two if we're lucky." She replied, scowling. "They are coming, but are not using the Imperial Highway and do not seem to know the lay of the land."

That explains why the Redcliffe column didn't intercept them. If they attacked on the Imperial Highway or an adjoining major road then they could be ambushed, picked off, destroyed. However if there was a large war-band ignoring the major roads and milling about the countryside for whatever target of opportunity came about they would be much harder to find before they struck a major target.

He looked over the assembled troops. Twenty five assembled men and women against seventy Darkspawn was not a number he wished to jump into battle with, even with an advantage in defence. They could not defend the whole village, not from that number. They needed to keep them to the Chantry and the bridge that connected it to the village, destroy the bridge if necessary.

What was he to do?

"Stop hesitating young Cousland," he looked up just in time to see the Revered Mother descending the steps, lips drawn together in a thin line. "The bridge connecting us to the village is right next to the Chantry and will be easily defensible."

"Revered Mother," one of the Templar's called.

"We must get you to safety!" Another shouted.

"I will not abandon my flock against the heart of evil!" She replied, absolute. "We will pile as many people into the Chantry as we can and then bar the doors. If there is anyone we can recruit to aide us then make it so!"

Her words summoned the worried and unsure Templar's into action, and as they dispersed to perform their duties she turned to August and nodded. The Chantry bell started to ring with a heavy gong.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Leaf Ranger, ArtanisRose, RIF and_ _lupusadaquilonem for the reviews. I hope that chapter answered your questions concerning Lelianna._


	8. The Battle of Lothering

_**Chapter 7**_

 _ **Battle of Lothering**_

It didn't take long for word to spread. It took even less time for panic to set in. Upon hearing of the approaching horde people gathered their loved ones and what possessions they could and were herded gratefully into the Chantry. It was a strong building made of stone with thick walls, where most other buildings in the village were made of timber. This made it the best place to take refuge from the battle.

August and Ser Bryant watched from the courtyard, eyeing the refugees and making sure there was no trouble. People were scared and desperate, and bad things usually happened if there was no way to keep them in check. Even the Elves were allowed in without complaint, for which August was grateful. He would have made sure no one was refused entry, even if it meant at the point of a sword.

"With our numbers we won't be able to mount an attack," Bryant muttered as he watched the procession. "So we're going to be strictly on the defensive. I have already explained this to my men. Do yours know?"

He scowled, "Off course. My people are not fools."

"Forgive me, I simply wished to make sure. " the Templar replied. It was unfair that he would be so biting and confrontational, but Gwyneth's story from before seemed to crash into the forefront of his mind every time he spoke to the man. It wasn't Ser Bryant who did that to her. If anything he seemed like a decent enough fellow. "The walls surrounding the Chantry courtyard are our best defence. I have already placed men to create a barricade around the bridge as well. Your Mages will be on the top of the steps, giving them better accuracy in using their magic."

"They will need cover as well. The Darkspawn are known to have archers in their bands." August added.

"Hmm," the Templar nodded in thought. "There are a few carts left. I will have some men move them to the steps and push them over. It's not ideal but it should be enough to protect them from any stray arrows. Will that do?"

"Yes, thank you." August replied. "You don't seem to be too against the use of magic, for a Templar."

Bryant shrugged. "Magic is meant to serve man, and not to rule over him. I think that by defending this building and the people within they are serving man as the Chantry instructs. Don't you agree?"

He couldn't find fault with that, so he dropped it. "So my Mages will remain at the steps, providing support for your men at the wall. Alistair and myself will join your troops there, and Leliana will be at the top of the steps as well. She is talented with a bow."

"Most of my men are trained with sword and shield, and sadly we have no real archers. It is something to ponder should we survive this." Bryant allowed. "I am cautious to place a Sister of the Chantry in this kind of danger but she has been adamant."

"Exactly what I told her when she volunteered for my group." August couldn't help but smirk. "But she had a habit of keeping at you until you give her what she wants. I saw her taking out Darkspawn with one arrow, even an Emissary. We will be glad for her bow."

Bryant laughed, "She is a strange one, but I have nothing bad to say about her. If she wishes to fight then I will welcome her company. So the Mages and our Sister Archer will remain at the top of the steps. I will post two Templar's to protect them should the Darkspawn break through. The rest will be stretched out along the courtyards surrounding walls, and another four will protect the bridge. It is right beside us, and if it looks like they'll be overrun they can simply hop over the wall into the courtyard."

August nodded. "Agreed, a sound strategy for defence. But if we are too defeat such numbers we're going to need a few tricks up our sleeve."

"Do you have any tricks in mind?"

"I do. Are there any barrels holding something flammable, like lamp oil or alcohol?" August asked.

Bryant was thoughtful for a moment, before he called over one of his men. "Find the Tavern keeper and ask him if he has anything flammable, alcohol or oil."

"Yes sir." the man replied before moving to the task.

Bryant watched the man go before turning back to August. "What are you planning?"

"Insurance," August replied, remembering a particular practical joke he and Fergus played which got a little out of hand. He couldn't help but smile at the memory. He explained his plan to the Templar. Ser Bryant listened to his idea calmly, supporting it once the facts and figures were presented to him. "We're also going to need to see if we can even the odds. Call for volunteers to fight among the local population and the refugees. Every person capable of wielding a sword or an axe, even a bow."

"Agreed." Bryant nodded. Most of those who could be accommodated within the Chantry were already within its walls, and even then the Revered Mother was allowing more still in, crowding them into the side rooms, the sleeping quarters of the Templar's and even her own private chambers. No one would be left out here for the enemy to butcher.

"Let's go then." August said, turning and walking towards the Chantry. Ser Bryant watched him for a moment before following him. "What equipment is there? Can you kit out any volunteers?"

"There are a few spare sets of armour in our stores, but only a few. Most men will have no choice but to fight in their normal clothes." Bryant replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps if we raid the blacksmiths we can get some more."

"Do it," August replied. "The man may complain about his armour and weapons being stolen, but better that than dead."

"Yes." Bryant agreed. He called another few men to him and relayed the new orders. The men nodded and went about their task.

All around them there was not a man was idle, pushing carts into the courtyard and turning them over to act as barriers, sharpening weapons and checking armour. On the steps Leliana was testing the tautness of her bow, Morrigan and Gwyneth the durability of their staffs against their magic. Even Alistair was working, helping the Templar's set up their makeshift defences.

He led the way through the large doors and into the main hall, which was now filled with townspeople and refugees. Not a single length of space seemed to be wasted as the people crammed in and tried to make themselves comfortable. August eyed them, took and deep breath and spoke in a loud voice.

"People of Lothering hear me!" He caught their attention well enough. "By now you are probably already aware of the terror closing in on us. I am here to tell you that this is not a mistake or a fluke but a point in fact. A sizable Darkspawn war-band is approaching the village, and if not stopped it will burn every building to the ground and kill all within their path."

It was rife in the air, panic, uncertainty, fear. There was no getting away from it. People were muttering in their small groups. August gave them a moment to contemplate and then, taking a deep breath he continued. "However all is not lost. For those of us used to battle have already been spurred into action. Even as I speak a group of defenders including Grey Wardens, Templar's, Mages, even Chantry folk have assembled to protect you from this threat. But we are still low in number, so I am here amongst you, asking for aide in this time of crisis. Any man or woman bearing arms or capable of bearing them step forward. Step forward and protect your loved ones. Step forward and protect your homes. Step forward and protect your country."

There was a moment of silence, and August feared his words had fallen on deaf ears. Then a single man rose up from the crowd. He was tall and imposing, even though he wore the clothes of a peasant, with messy black hair and beard, a long red scar across his nose and deep dark eyes. "I will join you."

"Your name!?" August asked.

"Ethan Hawke," the man replied.

"Thank you Ethan," August nodded and meant it. Even one volunteer was of further help to their defence.

Another stood up. This one was an Elf, a young man, tall for his race and gangly but with a fire in his eyes. He stood up from a small group of his own kin, ignoring a young red-headed girl who clasped her hands around his forearm and refused to let go. "I volunteer. My name is Varis Tabris!"

"Thank you Varis." He allowed a slight bow, which surprised all three before turning to Ser Bryant and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Get these two kitted out, armour and weapons of their choice. Make sure they are ready, understand?"

"It'll be difficult to find armour for the Elf." He admitted. It wasn't a slight or an insult against the boy, but a statement of fact. Elves were smaller and slimmer than the average human and rarely signed up for the Templar's despite their code allowing it.

"See what you can do."

"I volunteer as well!"

Both men turned to see that the red-head had rose with Varis, pushing away his hand when he tried to stop her and ignoring his terse whispers in her ear. August looked right into her eyes, checking for weakness or doubt and finding neither. "What can you do, little lady?"

She frowned at him, "I can use a bow."

"Your name?"

"Shianni," She replied.

"There is a Sister out front, a red-head. She will see if you can wield a bow, now go." He watched as she passed by the young Elf, ignoring his attempts to stop her. He waited until she passed him by. "And thank you."

She stopped, turning to stare at him, trying to see if he was making fun of her in anyway. She would see that he wasn't and without another word she left the walls of the Chantry for the outside. He looked over at Varis, who alongside his kin looked on the verge of panic. Shianni must be someone very important to him.

"Armour for her as well, Ser Bryant."

More people volunteered, not wanting to be outdone by a pair of Elves. An old man said farewell to his family, a younger man kissed his lover before rising to join them, three fathers held their wives and children and a woman also rose, alone and with no one to stop her. He learned their names in order as Owen, Howard, Godfrey, Jacob, Mathew and Aveline. That made nine volunteers altogether, not as much as he liked but more than he could hope for.

it was more than Ser Bryant had predicted as well, "We have no choice. Take anything you can from the blacksmiths!"

The blacksmith sputtered but did not overly complain, after all if they failed his life would be forfeit along with the rest of the village. There were only three sets of Templar armour in the stores and they were given to Hawke, Aveline and Owen. Thankfully they found a number of leather and lesser armour at the blacksmiths which was just enough for the rest. They suited up, grabbed their weapons of choice and joined the column.

Leliana certainly thought plenty of Shianni's ability as an archer, for she handed her a bow and a quiver of arrows and bade her to stand with her on the top of the steps. Varis appeared in leather armour, a pair of wickedly long and sharp daggers sheathed to his belt. Ethan was fully armed in Templar armour, and looked a little uncomfortable in it. He grabbed a huge claymore and tested it's weight before sheathing it across his back. Most of the others grabbed a motley of swords, shields and axes. Aveline appeared in the last suit of Templar armour, grim and determined as she picked a sword and shield from the hastily assembled armoury and stood with them.

So here they were. A little over thirty hastily assembled and armed volunteers facing off against a Darkspawn horde twice their size with great ferocity and no mercy. He saw Grey Wardens, Templar's, Mages and Militia. He saw Elves and Humans, Men and Women facing against a merciless foe. It certainly would make for an intriguing tale for the history books if they survived this ordeal.

A Templar waved him over when he exited the church, beside him were a handful of men and a dozen barrels. "Ser Warden. We have found nine barrels of lamp oil and alcohol."

"Very good," August replied, surveying the area from the Chantry to the Imperial Highway. There would need to be a little luck if these could be put to use. "Set the barrels in groups of three along the dirt road between here and the Imperial Highway, off to the side so no one knocks them away in the charge."

"Yes sir."

His plan to thin out the enemies numbers depended on if the Darkspawn chose to use the dirt road to get into the village instead of ascending the small but steep hills between them and the south. If they did follow the route then he could have the Mages cast fireballs or the archers loose flamed arrows. If they hit with enough impact, just as the pack were swarming over them there would be an impressive fireworks show.

If it worked though they could take out a few dozen of the enemy before they even reached their frontline. He had fought Darkspawn on several occasions, and the more he remembered them the more of an idea began to form about his enemy. Darkspawn were not very good fighters when in close quarters. They weren't well trained and their equipment looked scavenged. They used numbers and intimidation but once one looked past the grotesque appearance and the smell they were generally easy to put down.

There were exceptions to this trail of thought. The leaders of the numerous packs and war-bands, the Alphas and the magic wielding Emissaries, seemed to be more independent, more capable when it came to tactics and improvisation. But when dealing with the regular foot-soldiers it was just a matter of bearing the brunt of their attack and pushing back, hard.

The final preparations were made. The Templar's and volunteers set up the barrels in groups of three like he asked along the dirt road. Carts and timber were positioned at the top of the steps for the Mages and Archers to hide behind, also at the entrances to the Chantry and the bridge. They were ready by the time they saw the signs of a large force approaching from the south.

"Here they come." Someone called.

"I see them." Ser Bryant's voice echoed, he descended the steps and drew his sword. "Positions everyone."

"Looks like a big group."

"Maker watch over us!"

It did indeed look like quite the big group, even from here. A haze rose in the distance, and the low rumbling of dozens of armoured feet running in unison. Final preparations were being made. Morrigan, Gwyneth, Leliana and Shianni appeared at the top of the steps, half protected by the hastily erected barricade. The Templar's and volunteers took up positions along the surrounding stone wall. It only reached to their waists, but it was better than nothing.

He noticed the only female volunteer, Aveline, conversing with a Templar in harsh whispers for a moment before she turned her back on him and stormed off to her post. He and Alistair nodded to each other before taking their own positions, no one would be in reserve, there simply weren't enough people to think about that. It would be an all or nothing defence.

They heard the squawking, gibbering and howling moments before the vanguard rushed around the corner and down the dirt road. They were as ugly and disgusting as August remembered. Hurlocks and Genlocks charged down the path, armed with a motley collections of weapons, right past the first trio of barrels without any regard for them.

He waited until the first few lines passed them, then turned to the steps and shouted. "Now!"

Morrigan and Gwyneth did not hesitate. They cast their spells and sent fireballs soaring overhead. Gwyneth's fell just short, but it still took out three of them in an explosion of ethereal flame. Morrigan's hit the mark and the resulting explosion was sudden and violent. A bright flash, an ear splitting boom which made the defenders flinch. The vanguard for the Darkspawn was ripped apart, flailing bodies flew through the air, others engulfed in flame and falling to the ground, screeching and thrashing. Burning merrily.

It made them hesitate, but it did not stop them. More Darkspawn swarmed down the road, climbing over their fallen kin whether they were alive or dead, crushing those still alive beneath their boots. These creatures did not know fear, but they also didn't care about their companions. They would trample them underfoot and never look back.

Another duo of fireballs flared overhead, followed by another brilliant flash and explosion. More Darkspawn flew through the air, more became engulfed in flames. And those behind them threw them to the side and trampled them to death as they continued the advance. It was unnerving the more August saw it. They were getting close now, their numbers depleted but still more than enough for uncertainty in victory.

"Draw!" Ser Bryant roared, and a series of screeches could be heard as swords, shields and axes were unsheathed. Another few fireballs flew by, aiming for the last few clusters of barrels, still hoping to do a few more casualties while they clashed with the first wave. An arrow flew by, piercing the eye socket of a Hurlock in a flash of putrid black blood. A good shot, whether it was from Leliana or the Elf he didn't know.

Then the first wave fell upon them. August slashed his sword into a Genlock's shoulder down to the chest as it tried to clamber over the wall. Across the line Templar's, Militia and Grey Wardens hacked down the first group, only to watch as the second wave tirelessly clambered over their comrades. One of the Militiamen was barrelled into by a Genlock, blade coming down and a cut off scream.

Dagger howled and charged, smashing into the creature with claws and jaws, but the man was already dead. August had just dispatched another of the fowl creatures when an arrow whizzed a hairsbreadth from his face. The Templar beside him was not so fortunate, another arrow penetrating the weakly armoured eye-slit. There were archers on the foothills.

Another duo of fireballs and arrows retaliated, but he couldn't see the enemy archers clearly. That would be left to their own support group at the top of the stairs. All he needed to do was hold his own position and leave what he could not do to his allies.

The Darkspawn broke off, backed away and tried again. They were met by the raised swords and shields of the defenders and driven back. The wall was soon covered with stinking Darkspawn corpses, and yet with every successful defence they took casualties. Two Templar's and another Militiaman fell during that last skirmish.

The third time they didn't hit the wall, but the bridge beside them, three of the four defenders died and the fourth was just able to clamber over the wall to safety. Half a dozen Darkspawn attempted to cross the bridge to the village proper and would have made it if Morrigan hadn't have noticed them and sent a fireball their way. The trajectory was perfect, and the walls of the bridge enclosed the flames when it hit and exploded, all of the monsters were ablaze, some disappearing behind the bridges walls while others fell over them and into the river below.

Then the line broke. The Darkspawn put more troops on a section to the right, and smashed through the defenders. Another Templar fell, and four of the monsters broke through and barrelled up the stairs. One was stopped when Dagger pounced on him, powerful jaws clamping down on the Genlocks throat. Leliana drew and fired an arrow with flashing speed, downing one while Gwyneth roared in defiance, lightning crackling from her staff which she loosed on the approaching Hurlocks. Both were burned from the inside out by the bluish white pillar.

It soon became obvious that with their whittling numbers they wouldn't be able to cover the whole wall. Soon Ser Bryant's voice echoed over the noise of combat. They abandoned their positions and pulled back to the base of the Chantry steps. Alistair, Aveline and a handful of Templar's assembled a shield wall there while the rest took up position between them and the Mages and Archers.

The Darkspawn clambered over the walls, clambered over their own dead and dying and flooded into the courtyard. Their own numbers were hastily reduced but with their own losses August guessed they were still outnumbered two to one. The men and women around him were tired, almost exhausted, sweat shone from a few exposed faces. They wouldn't be able to last for very long. Thankfully there was one last ace in the hole, one last surprise for them.

A single barrel, in the very centre of the courtyard.

The swarming Genlocks and Hurlocks took no heed of it, rushed past it. One even rammed into it and sent it on its side, but by then the Mages fireballs had already descended. In the future Morrigan and Gwyneth would have many arguments about whose spell struck first, but the resulting flash and bang was impressive to all who witnessed it.

The approaching pack were thrown in every direction, some in pieces, some as living fireballs and many more stunned by the blast. There was a roar of defiance from the defenders as the shield wall broke and they charged right at them. They cut them down with merciless precision, hacking and slashing until nothing moved. Victory seemed assured, then an Alpha Hurlock, armed with a large two handed battle-axe, accompanied by what was left of the band bounded over the body strewn stone wall and rushed them.

Fire and lightning struck him, making him stumble and giving those with shields enough time to come back together and reform the wall. The Alpha and his surviving monsters clashed with them, but it was soon apparent that they were outnumbered and outmatched. his companions were felled quickly with arrows, swords and axes. The Alpha was soon surrounded but continued fighting, killing another Templar before he was finished off in turn.

The aftermath was silence, the defenders tense and alert, watching for another wave of enemies to come bounding at them. Dagger was by his masters side, body was low to the ground, teeth flashing, growling low in his throat. The seconds ticked by and nothing happened, nothing more came to challenge them.

For a moment, one merciful moment, they thought the fighting was over. Then a scream ripped through the air from the village, shattering their hope that it was over. Yet despite their exhaustion they were still spurred into action.

August, Ser Bryant, Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana and Gwyneth quickly rushed over the walls and across the bridge into the village. A few men and women were running in the opposite direction. Even with the Chantry doors opened there were a handful of people who felt safer in their homes.

August grabbed a panicked man as he tried to run past. "Is it Darkspawn? where are they!?"

The man pointed to the other side of the village, the route he remembered they left and returned yesterday when they were clearing out the northern road. A few of the pack must have circled around the town. Was it just a coincidence or had there been an actual strategic attempt to flank them? Another two Templar's appeared then and together they rushed through the village square and down the main street leading to the northern exit. A few more people ran past them in the opposite direction.

Then they came to the entrance, and were met with a scene of carnage. Darkspawn bodies were strewn about and the large, imposing form of the imprisoned Qunari known as Sten stood against an Emissary. He was beaten, bloodied and battered, armed with nothing more than a large thick tree branch taken from Maker only knew where. Yet August saw his resolve as he faced down the Emissary, while this man drew breath his enemy would not advance.

He will admit he had reservations about letting the Qunari along, when taking his crimes into account, but seeing him standing between the Darkspawn and the village he was finally convinced in Morrigan's arguments. That this was a penitent man seeking to atone for his crimes, and he was definitely a warrior of some skill.

A barrage of flame, lightning and arrows finished off the Emissary quickly. The battle was finally over. They had won. When it was apparent that there were no more enemies to fight there were no cheers, no feasts or songs. There were just a handful of exhausted and ragged survivors, happy to be alive.

The survivors were all assembled in the ruined courtyard and a roll call took place. Those who survived spoke up, those who didn't remained silent. August was glad to see that his own band had all survived. Gwyneth and Leliana were sitting together on the steps, catching their breaths. Morrigan stood to the side, haughty as ever. Alistair stood to his right. Out of the twenty Templar's twelve had fallen in battle. Out of the nine volunteers four had given their lives.

Ethan was sitting at the entrance to the Chantry, bemusedly watching as his mother and sister fussed over him. The red-haired woman Aveline was embracing one of the Templar's, both whispering soft assurances and gratitude's to each other. The two Elves, Varis and Shianni, kept to the side, conversing quietly. Sten too remained away from the main group, sitting on a section of wall not covered by corpses and watching them with sharp eyes.

"We need to burn the Darkspawn corpses," Alistair shouted, gaining everyone's attention and breaking the sombre silence. "If we don't then people will become susceptible to Blight sickness and their taint will fester in the land. If you are to handle them use heavy gloves and clothes. Clean yourself thoroughly afterwards and burn what you cannot clean."

Everyone had a short break, to eat, to regain strength, to make sense of what they had all experienced. Then they set to work. The defenders were not alone in this strife, for those they defended came out in droves to help with the cleanup. Shopkeepers, blacksmiths, maids, barkeeps, cleaners, mothers, even the sisters and priestesses within the Chantry itself volunteered.

The corpses of the Darkspawn were removed and dragged to a clearing outside of the village. There they were piled into a small mountain of the dead. The black blood and gore left behind was washed away. Their own dead were found amongst the carnage and carried to a more respectable line of corpses, covered in white tarpaulin donated from the Chantry's own bed clothes.

The task took much of the remaining day, and they worked in groups for hours before retiring into the Chantry were a series of large wash tubs full of hot water were assembled. All were cleaned thoroughly by the sisters with no room for privacy or propriety, for the possible horror of the Blight sickness trumped all other concerns. Even he and Alistair, who were immune, were practically thrown into the basins and cleaned thoroughly by the sisters, all fairly young and very pretty. He took it as a blessing in disguise, even flirted a little about him helping them bathe while Alistair, the poor Chantry boy, was red faced the entire time.

The pile of dead monsters were set alight by Morrigan and Gwyneth before dusk set. The flames caught and spread with the help of the now blighted carts they used in the defence, and what was left of the cooking oil. The bonfire which followed lasted many hours under the careful watch of them and the Templar's.

Their own dead were also laid to rest. Set delicately onto a hastily constructed wooden platform and lit by the torch with full honour and dignity. The Revered Mother led a short eulogy of thanks, naming each deceased warrior and praying that they would join the Makers side for this ultimate sacrifice. It was a nice, simple service with no prattling on about the evils of Magic or the sins of the mortal man.

He liked the Revered Mother the more he stayed.

The night passed without incident. The Templar's didn't bother his Mages. Morrigan kept her usual insults and sarcasm to a minimum. Gwyneth didn't make much of a fuse in sharing a hall with members of an order which had wronged her. Even Sten, a Qunari, was allowed to remain. The people who took refuge, even those who did not, refused to leave the stone walls of the Chantry. It added for a cramped but not uncomfortable night in the holy building.

* * *

The next day the villagers and refugees left the Chantry. The villagers returned to their homes while the refugees made preparations to travel further north. Some of the refugees chose to remain behind in Lothering, to help the villagers and the war effort while some of the villagers were packing up to follow the refugees. The Revered Mother had decided to remain in the village, as had the last of her Templar's.

When August entered her private chambers he was met with her and Ser Bryant speaking to each other, but instead of ending their conversation they invited him to join them. "Ah young Warden. Please enter and close the door behind you. There are plans which need your opinion."

For a moment he wondered what a barely born Warden like himself could advice, but he nodded and closed the thick oak doors behind him before taking the offered seat. There was perhaps a hundred different ways he could have started this conversation, but he started with this. "I apologise Revered Mother, but I never had the privilege of knowing your name."

She smiled kindly, "It is Revered Mother Marianne young man, and I am aware of who you are as well. Grey Warden August Cousland. I am sorry to hear about the horrors happening in the north at this time. To think that such treachery would happen there, especially during a time of Blight."

"Thank you, Revered Mother." August allowed with a bow of his head. "But let us move on from such talk. What were you speaking off which needed my opinion."

"For us of the Chantry to take a more serious role in this Blight," Marianne replied, eyes meeting those of Ser Bryant and offered a nod. "It had been nearly two hundred years since the last one, but we cannot remain idle. I am interested in hearing your own opinions in what can be done to combat this threat."

"My opinion?"

"I am not a soldier or a commander." She replied, hand on her heart. "I have never fought a battle in my life let alone rallied a defence. That was why I left this to you and Ser Bryant to do, because you are both warriors who have seen bloodshed and the horrors of battle. For one such as me to take command would be foolish and end in disaster."

She had a point, he supposed. She may have the best intentions at heart but she was just a Priest of the Chantry, sworn to the Maker. Marianne was not a soldier or a commander capable of leading armies, instead she left the defence to him and Ser Bryant because she was aware of this fact. It was not a matter of assigning blame or removing a rival for if the defence failed all within the Lothering would perish. She understood that and granted command to someone capable enough to fight.

He understood that, so he made a decision. He clasped his hands together and looked at the Revered Mother of Lothering and the Knight-Captain who was her defender. "I think word should be sent south to the army at Ostagar, asking for aide in defending the village from any further Darkspawn incursions."

"What makes you think they will respond?" Marianne asked, but Bryant already knew the answer.

"Lothering is the last village between here and Ostagar, so it is a major hub for supplies and reinforcements to continue south to the fortress. If Lothering falls then the army is cut off from the rest of Ferelden and the rest of the country would be easy prey for the Darkspawn. Am I correct in assuming this, Ser Warden?" Bryant asked.

"Most likely Teyrn Loghain is already aware of this," August agreed. "But it would be helpful if a message could be sent south to him, reminding him of Lothering's closeness and strategic position to Ostagar. A Company's worth of men at the very least would be essential in keeping the route open and maintaining order."

"I understand," the Revered Mother replied with a nod. "I will send a messenger south with such information for the Teyrn. As well as that I will be sending a letter to the Grand Cleric in Denerim imploring her to send Templar's and Mages here and further south to the fortress. The time for the Denerim Chantry to remain neutral has passed."

"I thank you for your assistance Revered Mother," August allowed, but he meant it to some degree. Her words may fall on deaf ears but it was a relief to know that someone was trying something. "It would be most helpful in these times ahead, to know that we will have aide from our Lady Andraste and the Maker."

A messenger had been called into the chamber, given his orders and told to leave with all haste. From there conversation turned to other issues and places. The Revered Mother had questioned him on the Mages in his company, but didn't push the issue once she was made aware that they were allies of the Grey Wardens. They had also spoken on additional supplies and horses for their journey now that they had Leliana with them. The Revered Mother promised what they could spare, but pointed out that horses were a rare commodity here. She did drop the hint of there being some horses at the Bann's estate. August made a mental note of its positioning.

Then the more sensitive issues came up. The acquisition of further allies. He brought up Leliana first, and although sceptical of what a simple Lay-Sister could do she gave her blessing for the girl to go with them. The services of the Qunari were a little less forthcoming. "You are aware of what he did, correct? That he murdered an entire family in their home, eight in total including children."

"I am aware of this yes, and if my situation were not more dire I would not be asking this of you. His crimes are grave yes but he seems to be deeply disturbed by what he has done. Would it not be better to have him atone by fighting this Blight rather than simply executing him?"

The Revered Mother frowned, lips pressed together, thinking. It was a discussion which made her very uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that she rose from her seat and began pacing around her small private quarters. "I am aware of his wish to make amends, however the crimes are just too grave for them to be ignored."

"And they won't be." August promised. "He himself will have to live with what he has done for the rest of his life and beyond. It's just that there is a reason why I am pushing for this. When the Darkspawn circled Lothering and attacked the village he could have ran once he was freed, left and disappeared into the Bannorn, but he didn't. He stood and he fought with nothing more than a branch from a tree against half a dozen Darkspawn. By doing that he saved lives. I need that strength and through service he will atone."

She was still unsure, still pacing, still frowning and thinking.

"Would it be easier for me to use the Rite of Conscription?" He asked at last.

She let out a breath, "No, that will not be necessary. Just take him, and don't make me regret allowing his freedom."

He smiled consolingly, "You won't Revered Mother. I guarantee it."

* * *

His group was awaiting him in the Chantry courtyard, alongside a handful of other faces he was not expecting. Sten was standing away from the group, arms folded he made for a tall and imposing figure. August walked right up to him and stopped, feeling a little trepidation now that they were face to face without the safety of a cell between them. He hadn't quite contemplated just how tall this guy was until now, when he had to look up to see his face.

"You are released into my custody," August began.

"So I am not to be placed back into a cell?" Sten asked.

"Unless you want to be," he replied. "What you said when you were imprisoned, with wanting to atone for what you did through combating the Blight. Was that the truth or just something of the moment?"

"It was the truth," the Qunari replied.

"Then you will be coming with me. The Revered Mother agrees that the Blight is more dangerous than anything else we will face and needs to be stopped." August explained. "I saw you fight in the village and I am in need of another sword, unless you prefer another means of combat."

"I fight with a sword, yes."

"Then we will make sure you are kitted out before we leave Lothering. Just be aware Sten that the Revered Mother is unhappy about this, and even I have reservations about letting you go free. So here's the deal. You will do what I say when I say it. You will kill Darkspawn and only Darkspawn unless I say otherwise. Are we clear?"

Sten nodded, "A reasonable demand. I accept."

"Very good." August then turned and began walking to the main group, passing Morrigan on the way. "Happy now?"

"I am not sure what you mean?" She replied flippantly.

"I bet you don't."

"You are a Mage?" Sten's gravelly voice echoed.

"I am."

"And you are free of any bindings?"

"I am, yes."

"Hmm, interesting."

Was it awful of him to take some sort of vindictive amusement from the little quiver of uncertainty in the Witches voice? Probably so. But Morrigan had preened about letting the big man out of his box and as far as he was concerned she would need to deal with any consequences which came with it. He turned his attention from the two back to the main group, looking them over. Alistair did not look happy with the idea of letting Sten join them. He would need to speak with him about it later.

But not right now. He looked over the new faces amongst his number. The most obvious of them was Ethan Hawke, still dressed in his borrowed Templar armour, his broadsword slung across his back. He was a large and powerful looking man, and from what glimpses he had seen of him during the battle he was very good with a sword.

Ethan turned as he approached and offered a smile. "My Lord, thank you for what you've done for us and Lothering. It won't be something we will soon forget."

"Thank you for the praise, but if it was just us fighting alone this place would be a funeral pyre." August replied. "You should share in some of the praise. From what I have seen you are good with a sword. It is a shame I didn't have someone like you in my group."

"Nothing would bring me greater honour, My Lord. However I cannot join you. With my brother fighting in the army I am the only man of my family and I cannot in good conscience leave them here unprotected." Hawke explained.

"I understand," Cousland replied, ignoring the pang of regret that he couldn't recruit this man. "So what are you planning to do now?"

"The Darkspawn raid has shown me that we cannot rely on the Revered Mothers Templars to protect us. We will need to take a hand in defending ourselves. I will assemble a group of volunteers to act as a village militia, so long as we can find arms and armour we can protect our homes from any other threat."

A good plan, one he would have advised himself. Lothering seemed remarkably unprotected to August, and after a little prodding he had found that the local Bann had assembled a handful of loyal soldiers and marched north to Denerim to wait out the Blight. From what he was able to discern he had left no instruction to those he left behind, nor did he see fit to setup any militias to protect his settlements and strongholds. Lothering and any other villages under the man's control were simply left to fend for themselves.

"I wish you luck, and hope that we meet again." August raised his hand, which Ethan took.

"As do I, My Lord."

With that he turned to the third new face of the group, and was secretly glad that this time he wasn't looking up at someone. "Now then, if I remember correctly your name is Varis."

"That's right, Ser Warden. I am glad that you remember me." He was tall for an Elf, but still shorter than the humans here with dark hair and sharp handsome features.

"A person who volunteers for a fight is worth remembering." August replied. "I take it you want to volunteer?"

"I wish too, but I have a request beforehand." Varis looked down at the ground, took a breath and raised his head to meet August's eyes. "I have a cousin and a few others who came with me. We left our home with little more than the clothes on our backs and I wish to know that they are cared for."

"Why would you leave your home to come here?" August asked, morbidly curious. He knew that the lives of City Elves were not particularly easy.

"It's complicated," he replied. "Just know that things happened which made us staying there a death sentence."

"I take it the red head who fought with us is your cousin?" August asked.

"She is."

"Leliana said good things about her, that she was a good shot with a bow."

"She is, but I don't want her to be put into the danger which is coming. She has suffered enough." Varis replied. "Look if you don't think I'm worth your time just say so. But I am good with a pair of knives, I know how to fight. I am also a good pickpocket and an expert of relieving people of things they do not need."

He raised his brow, a little amused by the turn of phrase. "You mean you're a thief."

"That's such an ugly way of putting it. I take things that people do not need and give them to those who need them, robbing the rich to feed the poor sort of thing." The Elf replied, a little offended.

August couldn't help but chuckle, "And you want to make sure your cousin and fellow Elves are looked after before you agree to come?"

"Yes, the original plan was to go east to the Brecilian forest and find the Dalish. But travel is almost impossible, we're lucky we haven't lost anyone during the journey here." Varis explained. "They're women mostly. They know how to work hard for little in return."

"Hmm, let me see what I can do." August replied and bade him to follow. He walked straight back to Ethan and waved to get his attention. "Ethan, I have a question for you."

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Your family, do they live in the village or do they have a farmhold?"

"It's a farmhold, not five minutes' walk from the outskirts of the village."

"Will your family be reclaiming it?"

"It looks that way," he replied with a shrug. "The Darkspawn and bandits haven't plundered the place yet so I was about to pick a few volunteers to see if it can be reclaimed and put back to use. The harvest is coming and the army will need all the help they can get."

August spared a glance to Varis, "How would your family feel about taking in a handful of homeless Elves?"

"Your cousin I take it?" Hawke asked, and Varis nodded.

Ethan looked down at the Elf for a few moments, studying him. "We'll do it. To tell the truth Mother will probably consider it a blessing. Most of the farmhands ran north when they heard about what was happening in the south, so as long as they're willing to work they'll have three square meals a day and a roof over their head."

"I see, how does that sound?" August asked.

Varis sighed in relief, "Better than I hoped. Thank you Ethan."

"You saved my life during the battle. It is the least we can do." Hawke waved him off.

He grinned a very boyish grin, "It was a lucky throw."

"You still saved my life Varis. I owe you."

"We'll wait for you here." August told the two. "Do what you need to do and say what goodbyes you need to make, then come back here and get ready to move out."

"Yes, Ser Warden." Varis replied before following Hawke into the Chantry.

Alistair was soon by his side, watching the two. Dagger soon followed, whining and wishing for attention. August scratched the back of his Mabari's ear. "They both look like good people."

"They do, which worries me." August replied, frowning. "They seem perfectly sane people, so why the hell is Varis volunteering to join us?"

Alistair shrugged, "Are you saying I'm not sane?"

"Yes."

"That's a hurtful thing to say," he said, sarcasm evident. August couldn't help but smile a little himself. "I don't like the idea of recruiting the big Qunari, but the Elf seem fine. There's just one little problem. Seven people and only four horses. Where are we going to get some more?"

"Oh I'll think of something." August allowed, smiling.

"You have that smile again," Alistair frowned, worried. "I don't like that smile. It usually means we're about to do something questionable."

"Now Alistair. I didn't realise you had such little faith in me."

* * *

The latch for the stable gate was released and they were away, three horses thundering out of the paddock, across the courtyard of the Bann's estate and up the long dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust and kicked up dirt in their wake. The Bann's Seneschal ran after them on foot, waving a frying pain, absolutely furious.

"We're horse thieves," Alistair lamented, face pale in horror. "Maker help me we're horse thieves!"

"Oh come on Alistair," August whooped in glee. "It's for the war effort. I'm sure the Bann will completely understand."

It had been a better haul than he could possibly have hoped for. Within the stables were six well looked after horses. A large Orlesian Nahashin War-horse, two Westhill Mares and three Deauvin's. They took the war-horse, obviously, one of the Mares and one of the Deauvin's for diversity. August would be the first to admit that he had never had to steal anything in his life but found the whole event exhilarating.

He wasn't alone, as the other non-Templar member of his party seemed to take as much joy in the heist as he himself did. He had taken Alistair and Varis with him. The Elf because he wanted to see how they would fare, even if they were stealing from a noble and not fighting Darkspawn. He performed rather well. Varis had been very useful, keeping an eye out for the servants that the Bann had left behind.

"Hey, Boss!"

August turned, his reflexes allowing him to catch the apple Varis had tossed at him. He looked at the fruit for a moment, and then grinned. Alistair was not so pleased with the treat. "Where did you get that?"

"Funny thing that," the Elf replied, grinning as he took a bite from his own apple. "Decided to have a little look inside the house. Really nice place by the way. There was all of this very expensive looking furniture and portraits and so on. There was also a few cellars full of foodstuffs that were just sitting there, so much that I was sure it was all going to spoil."

"You stole from the Bann's estate!?" Alistair asked, aghast.

August looked back at his fellow Warden, wishing to point out that they'd already stolen the horses, so why not a few apples as well. He pondered how he was able to break into the estate and steal food from the cellars. They didn't take all that long. Then he remembered the Elf had volunteered to go on ahead and reconnoitre the grounds. Took him a good ten minutes to do. That must have been when he did it. He thought about it for a moment, shrugged and took a bite from the apple.

"He wasn't going to be eating it," Varis shot back easily at a fuming Alistair. "I simply took something no one else was going to use."

"It's still stealing."

"I also relieved him of a few bottles of Nevarran wine," he added.

"Don't worry about it," August tried to console. "Bann Ceorlic is an asshole!"

A roar of laughter from the Elf, more bickering with Alistair, all the while a small grin lit up August's face. He just remembered that this was Ceorlic's territory, and his slight feeling of guilt melted away like snow at the first sight of a spring sun.

He never liked the old bastard anyway.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Impstar, Leaf Ranger and_ _lupusadaquilonem_ _for the reviews._

 _I had originally planned to have Hawke join the group and have Carver remain in Lothering. But then I remembered Carver had gone to Ostagar to volunteer with the army leaving Hawke alone. Hawke always seemed to cherish his family, so I didn't see him riding to fame and glory and leaving them alone and unprotected. It won't be the last we've seen of him though._

 _There may be some mistakes in this, though I'm pretty sure I managed to find and remove them all. It's the first time I've wrote an original battle in a long time, so let me know what you think of the tactics and if anything doesn't make much sense. Let me know if Carver's name comes up in the battle or Ethan's comes up when he's not supposed to be there._


	9. Fires of Redcliffe

_**Chapter 8**_

 _ **Fires of Redcliffe**_

It was decided that they would follow the winding shore of Lake Calenhad east and then north, passing the Arling of Redcliffe and through Gherlen's Pass to the gates of the Dwarven City. August guessed that they had managed to scrounge enough supplies to safely get them at least as far as the village of Redcliffe. There they could resupply for their journey to Orzammar.

"-altogether, Maker willing, we should reach the village in three days, and then another two to reach Orzammar once we re-supply." August finished. They had already left Lothering behind them and made camp at the side of the Imperial Highway for the night. His companions all sat around a large campfire. The flickering flames casting their varied features in a mixture of oranges, yellows, reds and ambers. "That off course is the optimistic timeline unless bad weather, bandits or another war-band of Darkspawn get in the way."

Lelianna spoke up after a moment of silence, "What about the lake? Could we not barter passage across on a trading or passenger ship?"

Alistair shook his head. "No, sorry to say. This time of year every lake Captain with half a brain would be converging on Redcliffe village. It's early Autumn and the village is an important trade route for goods from Orlais to the rest of the country."

August nodded, seeing the sense. Just a few years ago Ferelden had re-opened diplomatic relations with Orlais, including a strengthening of the current non-aggression pact and additional trade agreements. Since then merchants and traders from Orlais had been using Redcliffe Village as an important hub to get their goods and material across. It's position just south of the border fortresses in Gherlen's Pass as well as it's docks on Lake Calenhad had made it indispensible. Local ship Captains had made a bit of coin volunteering their ships and boats to ferry cargo across to the Bannorn and from there the rest of the Country.

It had fast become a lucrative enterprise, helping the Guerrin family regain much of their wealth lost during the occupation. It had been good for the rest of the country as well, with luxurious goods from clothes and furniture to food and drink suddenly becoming available to both the Nobility and the Freeholders.

"Tis quite interesting that someone like you would know these things, hmm?" Morrigan preened in delight, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I believe I have it. You were an orphaned thief from Redcliffe Village."

"Ah does your wit know no bounds," Alistair mocked good-naturedly or August _hoped_ it was such. "And just so you know I am remaining by my original story. That I was raised by wolves and slept in stables."

Morrigan scoffed, but said nothing else. Across from her Gwyneth sighed, rolling her eyes. The Circle Mage had seemed better since they left Lothering, like a huge weight had been lifted from her slender shoulders. He was glad to see it.

"Right, now that you two are quite finished we can continue." August said before turning to Lelianna. "It's early to mid-August, which means that the aforementioned trade will be in full swing until just before the first snow falls. Every ship Captain with a solid ship will be carrying cargo to the rest of the country via Redcliffe, so good idea but very difficult and probably expensive."

"It seems most inefficient." Sten grumbled, white brow furrowing. "Surely it would be cheaper and more competent to commission ships than place them on every single boat in the harbour."

"As far as the trading goes it's early days yet, but I remember there was such a plan to be discussed at the next Landsmeet. That would have to be placed on hold, with recent events." August explained.

The giant rumbled, but soon was once again silent.

"Talk of trade aside will we really have enough supplies to get us too Redcliffe. Lothering didn't have much it could spare unless you count our act of horse theft." Gwyneth said, smirking when she saw Alistair groan in despair at the memory. Varis could be heard snickering beside her.

August shrugged, "If we do run out of supplies the Lake will be a prime source of fresh water, and this far north hunting should also be safe."

There were mumblings of agreement across the party.

"I know you're all probably tired of me saying this but I'll remind you again. The three Grey Warden treaties call upon the Dwarves, Dalish Elves and Mages to aide us during a Blight. These are the peoples we need to gather. Our first objective will be Orzammar, homeland of the Dwarves. Once we have their aide we'll head east to enlist the Mages Circle at Kinloch Hold. I don't see much issue with either camps. The Dalish will be more difficult, but with a Witch of the Wilds on our side we should be able to contact the tribes and present the treaty. Will that be possible, Morrigan?" He sparred a look at the Apostate for confirmation.

The witch frowned for a moment, "Twill be very possible. Mother had been in contact with several powerful clans, and their migratory patterns are known to me."

"Very good." August nodded before turning back to the main group, a plan of action presented and clear. "This is our mission, as Grey Wardens and allies of Grey Wardens. Are there any questions?"

There was none.

"We will be setting up watches throughout the night in shifts of three hours to make sure nobody gets the jump on us. Tonight it will be me, then Alistair and Gwyneth. We will be doing rotas each night and no one is exempt." August added. "We leave at dawn, so get as much sleep as you can."

After breakfast and breaking up the camp the group of seven were travelling just as the sun fully left the horizon. The small group travelled along the Imperial Highway, hugging tightly around the shoreline of the great Lake which was named after the founder of the Country. August had never seen the Lake before, and was mesmerised by the sight, the shimmering silver waters which seemed to stretch for as far as the eye could see, only ending several meters to their right on stony beaches of pebbles. To their left were the rolling hills and grassy knolls of West Hills.

When they setup camp the following night they found that they weren't alone. A father and son duo of Dwarven Traders, Bodahn and Sandal Feddic. The father had explained he had seen their campfire and recognised them from Lothering and asked if they could travel along with them for protection. The two of them had been in Lothering during the battle it seemed. August had agreed, and in return the Dwarves had allowed them to see their wares, even bringing them down in price.

As the days wore on he began to notice some things about his companions. The most obvious was that Lelianna was very skilled at playing the lute, and was also a beautiful singer. She would regale them of stories and songs when asked, both Ferelden and Orlesian. Even Sten and Morrigan seemed interested in them, though they would never admit it. August enjoyed her performances, there was something melodic and soothing about her voice, especially when she sang.

Gwyneth had watched the Sisters performances with much interest. Her former fears of Lelianna and Alistair slowly melting away the longer she associated with them. She and Lelianna got on especially well. He couldn't remember when it happened but by the third night the two women were talking quietly but excitedly around the campfire. By the fourth night Lelianna was teaching her how to play the lute.

He, Alistair and Varis also seemed to get along very well. It was amazing what happened around a roaring campfire with the smells of roasting meat and warm Ale in their bellies. The three of them shared stories of their former lives, and as one would predict the stories of a former Noble, a Templar and a City Elf were as different and intriguing as you could get. By the end of the night they were roaring with laughter with a dash of melancholy for what they had left behind.

Of the group Morrigan and Sten remained the most aloof. The Witch continued to setup her own camp a fair bit away from the main group, though she still turned up when it was her time to keep watch. Sten on the other hand did remain within the main camp, but usually retired early.

There had also been, to his relief, no attempts to attack him or his party while they were on the road. No bandits waited for them in ambush, and no Darkspawn swarmed from the wilderness to attack them. For the bandits he considered that their group was too large and well armoured to be attacked, as for the Darkspawn he guessed that they had not reached this far thanks to the efforts of the army.

Whatever the reasons were he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth and go actively looking for trouble, so on the road they stayed. By midway through the fifth day they reached the outskirts of Redcliffe village. The settlement was just over a few more hills. They would cross them and be there, re-supply, maybe stay the night at the inn and finally complete the rest of their journey.

* * *

There was a saying about the best laid plans. August scowled under his breath as he realised how true the saying was.

They had come to the hill just before Redcliffe village and August would have taken his group into the settlement without a care had he not noticed that something was wrong. The lack of smoke from the chimneys of the majority of the homes and the equal lack of boats and ships at the docks made it apparent. Alistair wasn't as quick but still quick enough to notice before they reached the outskirts of the village.

They learned that the village was under siege, but not by Darkspawn or Orlesians but by a small army of undead corpses. Three days ago animated dead had attacked the settlement from the Castle and each night since they had attacked and not given up until dawn. The villagers and a handful of Knights fought back but by the time they arrived a third of the population were dead and what was left were scared out of their minds.

They had abandoned the majority of the village and taken refuge around the villages Chantry. The women and children ushered into the protection of its stone walls while what was left of the men took up whatever arms they could to protect their families. August immediately took control of the situation, ignoring the impatient barbs from Morrigan and Sten as he got a hold of what was happening and what needed to be done. Bodahn and Sandal were sent into the Cahntry, and started helping however they could. He sent Lelianna to coerce the local blacksmith out of his home and found that in return they were to save his daughter who was trapped within the castle. He, Alistair and Sten had gone to the docks and managed to threaten a Dwarf merchant and his hired help to aide in the defence or die a slow and agonising death. He knew an Apostate he could negotiate with to that end.

A little more questioning of the Knights had turned up some interesting results. Arl Eamon Guerrin had taken ill suddenly, and his brother had been sent to lead the Redcliffe column in his stead. The column had not been two days down the road when undead monsters started swarming from the castle and attacking the village and every freehold within a kilometre. it was too late to recall them and the men left behind had thought they could deal with the situation themselves. They marched into the castle last night and hadn't been seen since.

That left his party, a few dozen determined village folk and a half dozen of the Arl's Knights. A sudden flash of déjà vu took him. He shook it off and got back to the issue at hand. According to those who had fought this enemy they always attacked from the same place, an enclosed road just past the windmill. He had Varis and Lelianna set oil and snare traps in and around the glaringly narrow route and positioned the knights and half of his party, mainly himself, Gwyneth and Morrigan at the windmill. The rest would remain within the courtyard walls of the Chantry and protect the building from any surprise attacks.

August finished his briefing with the Knights before walking up the hill towards where Morrigan and Gwyneth were waiting. "Alright, same idea as Lothering only with a smaller target. When the enemy swarms down that path pour as much fire and lightning into it as you can. The traps will ignite and anything around them will go up in flames. We'll deal with anything that makes it through. Any questions?"

Morrigan smirked and opened her mouth to speak. He headed her off.

"Besides speaking the obvious about how this is none of our business and we shouldn't be fighting every battle that comes our way, thanks Morigan but the last few times were enough." August said, gruffly and with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The witch opened and closed her mouth, huffed and turned her back on him, suddenly very interested in the windmill. August couldn't help but smirk at how countermanding the woman brought him no small amount of joy. He turned to Gwyneth and his features softened. "Do you get it?"

She nodded, "Just like Lothering."

"That's my girl."

Morrigan scoffed, but said little else, still annoyed by his rebuke.

The sun dipped over the horizon, night fell, and the battle began. The undead men and women, their bodies showing bones and rotting flesh, descended down the path from the castle like they usually did and ran right into the traps Lelianna and Varis had set earlier in the day. The corpses slid on the oil immediately, and when they started to pile up both Morrigan and Gwyneth sent fireballs from their staffs right into the narrow cavern.

The pathway lit up in an explosion of flame and burning flesh. The undead mob roared and cried unnaturally, seemingly unable to feel pain as they crawled and hunkered through the burning chasm. Many didn't make it that far, several more fell as smouldering charred corpses and what few remained were brought low by the swords of the Redcliffe Knights and August's own blade. They didn't stop chopping and slicing until they were the only ones moving.

The battle on their end was barely over a few minutes before a man rushed up the hill to them, waving frantically. "The corpses are rising from the lake! They're attacking the Chantry!"

August scowled before turning the makeshift group of Knights and Mages. "Looks like the fight isn't over yet. Back to the village! Protect the Chantry!"

They did so, and arrived just in the nick of time. Their swords and staffs just managed to turn the tide of the battle, which would have been lost unless six Knights, two Mages and a Grey Warden had joined the defenders. By sunrise they had lost five men but the Chantry remained standing and unbroken. They had defended the village.

August sat on the steps of the church, watching as the dipped over the horizon. His party had gathered around him, tired and dirty but alive and intact. "We're going to need to get into that castle."

"Tis an interesting proposition." Morrigan allowed as she sat on the Chantry steps and sighed. "Shall we go up to the gates and knock?"

He glared half-heartedly at her. "Yes thank you Morrigan, very drool. My point is that Castles as old as Redcliffe usually have secret passages of some sort, to allow the lord and his family to escape in the face of a siege. The only problem is finding it."

"This is a waste of time. Our mission should be fighting the Darkspawn, not dealing with foolish ventures like this." Sten grumbled, arms folded across his chest and gaze hard.

August's eyes narrowed into a glare. "And what would you have me do? Allow one of the most strategically important settlements around Lake Calenhad fall to an army of undead!? Cut off another potential supply route for the army!? What a wonderful idea Sten. Thank you for your brilliant input."

"You mock me." He said simply.

"Glad you noticed." August replied with a shrug, too tired to be politically correct. "You're simply thinking of how many Darkspawn you could kill with a swing if your greatsword. There is a whole army of them out there Sten, lead by the greatest terror this world has known for hundreds of years. In order to defeat them we need to think of this as not a hunt, like you do, but a war. We need to assemble allies, gather armies, secure supply routes, fortify strongholds which is what I am trying to do!"

"August," Alistair muttered, hand gripping onto his shoulder and a worried frown in place. "Calm down."

August levelled a glare at his fellow Warden, then closed his eyes and took a few deep breathes. He nodded his thanks to Alistair before turning back to his companions. "My apologies, I think we are all a little overtired."

"Fighting all night will do that, I think." Lelianna supplied with a grim smile.

Sten growled low in his throat, but said nothing more.

"Ask the Knights, see if anyone knows anything about any entrances into the castle that's not the front gate." August said, massaging his temple, and the party dispersed. Within a few moments it was only him and Alistair, who seemed to be trying to find out which would be better to look at, him or the rough stone steps.

"August," he said after a moment, looking up at the clear sky.

"Yeah." He replied.

"There's something I need to tell you, I've been wrestling with it since we ran into the Redcliffe column." the older Warden began, then audibly gulped. There was a long pause as he waited, but his fellow Grey Warden seemed less likely to fill in the silence with words.

"Spit it out, Alistair." August grumbled, impatient. "I think I already know what you're about to say."

"I am a bastard who was brought up in Redcliffe Castle," he supplied, easy as you please. August stopped massaging his temple and turned to look at him with dark eyes. "Arl Eamon raised me until I was ten years old."

"And you're the bastard child of King Maric, right?"

"Yes, that's right - wait, how do you know that!?"

"Lucky guess." August allowed, stunned. "It helps that you're the spitting image of the late King - well, later King. "

It really was a lucky guess on his part. All the evidence, and he used evidence very loosely, he had since running into the column was that he was a bastard born in Redcliffe and raised by a member of its nobility, potentially Arl Eamon himself. Nobles didn't really care about peasant or freeholder bastards so that meant he was probably the illegitimate child of a noble, and Eamon wouldn't stick his neck out for just any noble so that meant someone who was at least an Arl. Alistair looked nothing like any of the current Arl's or Teyrn's within the Kingdom, but he had a striking similarity to the late King Maric.

That was it, all he had.

"By Andraste's perfectly shaped backside," August muttered. He liked Alistair, he really did, but the man shied away from decision making like it was touched by the taint itself. He learned that after knowing him for roughly a fortnight. Every single serious decision was always piled on him, even though Alistair was the senior Warden of the two. "If we let you take the throne the country is doomed."

Alistair blinked, and then smirked. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. It's really important to me you know. By the way how do you know Andraste's backside was perfect?"

August shrugged, shock and bone tiredness getting the better of him. "She had to gain the attention of the Maker somehow. It was either perfect tits, legs or ass. Maybe a combination of all three."

"She could have had a charming personality," Alistair allowed, trying not to laugh despite how serious the situation was. "Or maybe a good head on her shoulders."

"That too," August allowed. "Why not a combination of everything? Blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs, just right sized breasts, tight ass, could talk a King out of his throne and beat an enemy when outnumbered ten to one. Sounds like the perfect prophetess to me."

"Don't let the Chantry hear you say that," Alistair smirked. "Or anyone even remotely associated with them. Keep it away from Lelianna, especially Lelianna."

"Yes, that is a good point." Cousland allowed as he rose to his feet and absently dusted himself off.

"So you don't care that I'm King Maric's bastard?"

"To tell the truth I was always suspicious that he only fathered one legitimate child." August explained with a shrug. "So no, I don't mind that you're the bastard of the late King. It's a little late anyway considering your already a Grey Warden."

It was well known amongst the higher Nobility that King Maric was a notorious womaniser, had been ever since Queen Rowan had died young. The Arl's and his own father, but not Loghain, would trade stories about how he would charm young women on his visits to their manors and castles, from Bann's daughters to serving girls, from humans to elves in equal measure. There had been a wager going about how many illegitimate children he had sired.

Alistair seemed relieved, "You're right. Now that I'm a Grey Warden I cannot hold titles. I'm kind of relieved to tell the truth."

"Glad to see your relieved," August smiled tightly. Before he could say anymore Gwyneth came running towards them, stopping a few feet away to gain her breath "Gwyneth, what's the matter? You look like you ran a mile."

"I think I did," she replied between gasps of air. "I was looking for Ser Perth, found him up by the windmill and then Arlessa Isolde appeared and asked to speak to the man in charge!"

"Wait, as in Arl Eamon's _wife_ Isolde!" Alistair asked, blinking.

She frowned, "That is how she introduced herself."

"Describe her to me." August said. He remembered the Arlessa as tall, pretty, blonde, well endowed, undeniably Orlesian, had a pole stuck so far up her ass that if it were real it would come out of her mouth.

"Umm, tall, pretty, blonde hair, dark eyes, nice figure - speaks like Lelianna does but without any of the charm or courtesy. She looked at me like I was a bug to be squashed when I tried to question her." Gwyneth explained, making a habit of counting off what she remembered with her fingers as she spoke.

"That's her alright." August nodded.

"Yep," Alistair agreed. "Sounds like she hasn't changed a bit."

"Do you remember what I said about Andraste having blonde hair." August asked as he started walking, Alistair and Gwyneth following him.

"Yeah," Alistair hesitantly supplied.

"I've changed my mind," August continued with a very evident scowl.

* * *

As it turned out there was a secret passage into the castle, located under some floorboards in the basement of the windmill. August wasted no time in opening the passage and following the darkened underground path. If what the Arlessa told them was true they would find themselves in the dungeons of the castle, right under whatever malevolent forces had taken over the Guerrin fortress.

The Arlessa had been near hysterical when August had met with her. She had dark circles under her eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep. Terror and fear seemed to role from her haggard form in waves. She had explained several things under the direct and rather blunt questioning of the Grey Wardens and the more they found out the more complicated this crisis seemed to be.

The heir to the Guerrin family, Connor, had been recently found to be a Mage and in a desperate attempt to keep her sons magical talents secret the Arlessa had hidden him away in the castle, away from the eyes of the Chantry and even hired an Apostate to tutor him. Everything seemed to be going fine. Then the Arl had fallen ill, and it soon became apparent that it was worse than original thought. He was dying and in an act of desperation Connor had made a deal with a demon to keep his father alive.

He had ignored Alistair's exclamation of outrage and disbelief. Ignored Sten's rumble of disapproval and asked Isolde to carry on.

The deal had saved his father, but Connor in turn had been possessed by the creature. It went on a rampage, summoning lesser demons into the castle, murdering the servants and guardsmen and turning their bodies into the undead horde which had savaged Redcliffe Village every night since. The Arlessa had managed to convince the creature to allow her to leave so that she could find some new playthings for him. So here she was, before them, begging for help.

August remembered Connor, an altogether friendly and excitable young boy. He had never even suspected him of being a Mage. To his knowledge the Guerrin family had no magical blood flowing through them, which meant it may be in Isolde's side of the family or it could have been a random occurrence, which was not unheard off. He did not want to see Connor remain in the clutches of such a fiend nor did he wish any more harm to befall upon the people of Redcliffe.

The leader of the Knights, Ser Perth, had volunteered to go with the Arlessa and act as a decoy. They would keep the demon busy while August and his group would use a secret passage to get into the castle through the dungeons.

So here they were, following a narrow and winding underground path which looked rarely used. By the light of Morigan and Gwyneth's magic he saw the walls and superstructure covered with layers of spider webs and dust. August doubted this hidden passage had been used since the rebellion against Orlais decades earlier.

He would not take anything to chance, bringing his entire party with him to face off against this threat. August had never faced a Demon before, Darkspawn and other men yes, but never had he ever seen a demon let alone fought one. Gwyneth had seen one, fought one even, but it had been in the Fade when she took her Harrowing and she wasn't sure how different her experience would be compared to the real world.

Morrigan, on the other hand, had experience in facing demons both in the Fade and reality. Her advice hadn't left him with much hope. "If the child has been possessed by a demon it may be too late to save him."

"How so?" He asked, dreading the answer.

"When a demon get's its clutches on a living vessel it seldom let's go." She explained, smirking. "The more powerful the demon the greater it's hold, and some will not let go until death severs the link. Even if you can save the child he will be vulnerable to demonic possession from the Fade. A torch in the dark if you will."

August frowned, thoughtful. "But there is a way?"

She opened her mouth to speak, closed it and frowned in return. "Yes, there is a way."

She said nothing more, and he didn't push.

They exited the secret passage into the lowest level of the castles dungeon and right into a crowd of living corpses, either wandering aimlessly or clustered around a cell hammering on the iron bars. August and his companions drew weapons and went right into them, hacking and slashing with swords, battering with shields while Lelianna, Gwyneth and Morrigan hit them with magic and arrows. The dead put up a fight, but it was all fuelled by instinct and impulse and not with the years of experience and adaptability of the living.

By the battles end they all stood in a rough circle, the corpses of the dead at their feet and finally put to a more permanent rest. August was panting, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow as he sheathed his sword and picked his way through the body covered prison. A number of animated dead remained around the one cell, battering at the bars with old and chipped weapons. They put them down quickly and efficiently.

The only injury was Sten who took a glazing blow from an axe, but otherwise no one else was physically harmed. Gwyneth mended the wound quickly with a few healing spells. August checked a few of the bodies to make sure they were permanently dead before looking into the cell. Inside it was a man, dressed in robes, lanky and meek in appearance with dark hair, dark eyes and a few days old stubble. He practically screamed Mage, confirmed when Gwyneth looked into the cell and her eyes widened in recognition.

"Jowan," she gasped, looking at him.

He looked up from his huddled position in the corner, his own eyes widening in recognition when he saw her white hair. "Gwyneth, your alive?"

"Yes, I'm alive. What are you doing here!?"

"Do you know him?" August asked.

She nodded, "His name is Jowan. He's an apprentice at the Circle of Magi."

"Ex-apprentice I'm afraid." the imprisoned man replied, smiling in obvious relief. "It's good to see you Gwyn."

A small smile threatened to tug Gwyneth's mouth. "What are you doing here Jowan? I thought you were still at the Circle."

"I escaped from the Circle," he was morose as he spoke, a grimace which did little to hide a horrible memory. "A lot of things happened."

"I'm sure," August cut in, seeing that she was about to press him to continue. They just didn't have the time for a heartfelt reunion. "But Gwyneth's main question still stands. What are you doing in here?"

"The Arlessa threw me in here. She thought the madness happening was my doing, that it was me who taught Connor how to summon a demon." Jowan looked away. "I guess she forgot about me when things got too much out of hand."

"So you're the Apostate Isolde hired to tutor her son?" August asked.

"Yes."

"What did you teach him?" he asked, frowning.

"I didn't teach him to summon a demon or anything like that. I was only in the middle of teaching him the basics, just like we were taught at the circle." Jowan seemed reasonably cowed by his glare, looking to Gwyneth pleadingly. "Come on Gwyn. You know me!"

One look at her told anyone that she was flagging, her suspicion of his presence fighting against years of trust. They had been friends in the Circle at the very least. "Lelianna, take Gwyneth and Sten, scout the rest of the floor. Don't go up to the main floors on your own."

Gwyneth was broken from her inner turmoil, throwing August a wide eyed look. She seemed about to argue, but snapped her mouth shut and looked down, brow scrunching together. Lelianna had to place an arm on her shoulder, offering the other girl a soft smile as she led her through the heavy wooden double doors to the corridors beyond. Sten turned and walked after the two women without comment. August waited until they were out of sight, then another few moments just to be safe before settling Jowan with a scathing glare. One which made the Mage cower.

"Now, we're going to have a little chat, and no lies." August's voice was low and calm, but there was a threat behind it. A threat which brought a freezing cold chill crawling up Jowan's back. "Do you understand?"

The Mage gulped and nodded. "Y-yes, I understand."

It was a question which had been stewing in the back of his mind the moment he saw this man sitting in his cell. "The Arl was recently taken ill by a sudden sickness. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?"

Yes, it had been a question stewing in his mind, coming to the fore right here, right now. The Arl's sudden illness had been a surprise to anyone who knew him. Arl Eamon was in the latter stages of his life, true, but he always seemed to be as healthy as a man half his age. To suddenly be taken ill had surprised August, and he guessed it had surprised many others. Then he came to Redcliffe, found the village under siege by the undead, of a son who was a Mage, an Apostate tutoring him and a demon to top it off. It was a series of events which seemed too neat and tidy.

This Mage was the centre of it, he was certain.

It was an interesting ability, telling when a person was lying. He said ability but really it was observation, speaking with a person and noticing some revealing tells, no different than a high stakes game of cards. It wasn't an exact science. Some people were harder to read than others, but this Mage was like an open book, like Gwyneth when he had first sat down and talked to her.

The Mages eyes widened, then he broke eye contact and looked away. "No, off course not!"

"You are a very poor liar." August stated dryly, folding his arms across his chest. "A very interesting set of coincidences, you escaping the Circle and finding yourself in the court of one of the most powerful families in the realm."

"I suppose." Jowan allowed, suppressing the need to gulp.

"I do not believe in such coincidences."

He sighed, a broken laugh escaping him. "You don't look like a man easily manipulated. Alright."

"Alright?" August repeated, frowning. "You're just going to cave in just like that?"

Jowan shrugged, "I'm dead whether you kill the demon or not, why lie now?"

Still suspicious but more than a little curious he nodded for the man to continue. The look in his eyes reminded August of a man at the gallows, panic slowly being replaced with a weary and bone tired acceptance of his fate.

"Arl Eamon's illness isn't natural," the Mage began, hesitating again for a moment before pressing on. "I was recruited by a powerful man to infiltrate the castle and get into the families good graces. He knew many things, including that Connor was a Mage. He wanted me to poison the Arl, to keep him out of the way."

"Who recruited you?"

"The Teyrn of Gwaren, Loghain Mac Tir."

* * *

 _Special thanks to Impstar, Mazanti, Leaf Ranger and RIF for the reviews._

 _I'm a week late and have updated with a short filler chapter, sorry about that folks. I know I'm clambering through very well worn territory here but I want to get some things out of the way so I can dive into what the victory at Ostagar changes. Loghain would still have sent Jowan to poison Eamon, I'll let you stew over the complications this will bring in future chapters._

 _Just to let you guys know that I may have to stop updates for a few weeks. I wrote these chapters a few weeks ahead and thought I had plenty of time to write up more. The constant weekly updates sort of caught up with me, so I'll be stopping until I get a few chapters ahead. As always leave a review if you have any questions or if you have anything you want to see._


	10. Castle of Horrors

_**Chapter 9**_

 _ **Castle of Horrors**_

The Darkspawn came rushing from the line of trees at the other end of the clearing. An undisciplined mob of monsters screeching and gibbering. Genlocks and Hurlocks wearing scavenged armour and wielding a wild mixture of weapons, even a handful of Ogres could be seen within the crowd, the very earth quaking beneath their feet as they walked.

Loghain watched them approach, waiting until the first wave was midway across the clearing, passing by a series of markers, before nodding his approval. One of the soldiers beside him raised a battle standard into the air, the flag flapping and twisting in the wind.

A hail of arrows followed from the archers, either safe behind the recently erected barricades or up on the interconnecting bridge of the fortress itself. A black fog of steel descended upon the horde, bringing down Darkspawn in the dozens, arrow shafts imbedded in putrid bodies or digging into the earth.

Once again the Teyrn waited until the horde, undaunted, passed by a second line of markers. Another nod from Loghain, another banner raised from the line of men, and another hail of arrows fell upon the Darkspawn. Several dozen more of the beasts fell as they were struck by merciless steel. Still the horde advanced, passed by a third line, and were met with yet another cloud of arrows.

Then they passed by the fourth and final marker, another nod, another raised banner. There were fewer arrows loosed this time, but in this case quantity wasn't important. These arrows were different in that their arrowheads were wreathed in flames. Some struck the creatures, setting them alight, but most struck the ground around them, which was slick with oil. A wall of fire burst into existence, snaking its way along the field and engulfing a good number of the approaching horde.

Many of the monsters were set alight, their bodies and rags for armour burning merrily. But most importantly the wall of flames had cut the horde neatly in two. Loghain looked to his second in command, flashing a grim smile and a firm nod. Ser Cauthrien remained calm and serious, raising her hand. Horns blared across the field and a long column of men at arms poured from their barricades, forming into a wall of shields and drawn swords as they advanced upon the confused and dazed horde.

Loghain did not move from his position overlooking the battle, not when the frontline of his army met the horde, not when the Darkspawn fell to the organised and relentless assault of his amassed troops, not even when the horde broke and began to scatter. He remained at his post, arms folded, eyes focused, until the battle was well and truly over.

"Order the men to end pursuit and return to the lines," he said at last. Cauthrien nodded her head and barked the orders.

Horns sounded and standards raised the Companies participating in the cleanup reformed and began a slow, methodical and careful retreat back to their barricades. What was left in their wake was a field full of disease ridden corpses, imbedded arrow shafts and dying embers of flame. He guessed the latest horde was maybe a thousand strong, nothing compared to the force they defeated roughly a few weeks ago and no match for an army of trained professionals.

"I must say that if this is a Blight I am sorely disappointed." Gallagher Wulff, Arl of West Hills, growled from beside him, arms folded. He was a giant of a man, an old man, evident in the grey in his beard and hair. He commanded both his own men and those of the Teyrn of Highever until either the younger brother returned or the older brother awoke.

"I agree," Urien Kendells, Arl of Denerim, nodded his head. Similar in age to Loghain, the first signs of silver appearing in his auburn hair. Commander of the troops sent from Denerim and the surrounding villages. "I was expecting much more than this rabble."

"Gentlemen, I would not think it wise to chance the good will of the Maker with such words," Teagan Guerrin, Bann of Rainesferre, representative of the Arl of Redcliffe while his older brother languished at home and commander of his brothers troops by default. He was probably the youngest man amongst the small crowd of nobles. "We are dealing with the remnants of the original horde. I fear that things will only get worse from here. Would you not agree, Teyrn Mac Tir?"

"Hmm, I agree." Loghain replied, eyes leaving the field to take a look at the assembled men. "This is just the first few steps in a long game."

"Well if the mighty Hero of the River Dane says so no one can refute," Urien boasted on his behalf, drawing chuckles from the assembled nobility. "I just wonder if this is a Blight like those Wardens said and not simply a large incursion of Darkspawn."

"Are you doubting the words of a Cousland, Arl Kendells?" Leonas Bryland, Arl of South Reach and commander of its troops asked wryly. The youngest Arl present, and although he was half-Orlesian he had fought on the side of the rebellion, in the same regiment as Bryce Cousland and Rendon Howe. He had been a close friend of both.

"Off course not Arl Bryland, I simply say that this is pretty tame compared to the tales of past Blights." Kendells replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I was expecting tens of thousands of Darkspawn and dragons raining fire from the sky, aside from that horde two weeks ago this has not happened."

"That a Cousland should be conscripted to become a Grey Warden is a travesty," Wulff growled low in his throat. "The nobility is spread thin enough as it is without Orlessian mercenaries pressing our young into service. Bryce and Eleanor are dead, Fergus is in a coma, his wife and heir is dead and August is a Grey Warden and cannot inherit. If Fergus does not awake the Cousland line will become extinct, a great loss to the kingdom."

Murmurs of agreement abounded, even from Loghain himself. He and Bryce didn't always get along but out of all the noble families in Ferelden the Cousland's were the most _noble_ of the lot. They were also the closest claimants to the throne of the country with the death of Cailan and with him a pure blooded Theirin heir.

"If there wasn't Darkspawn at our borders I would take my men north and deal with Howe myself," Bryland proclaimed. It must have felt as much of a betrayal for him as it did the two surviving Couslands. The three of them had served together, Bryce, Rendon and he, fought together, bled together, killed together, _survived_ together and for it all to end like this decades later must have been hard for the man to accept.

"I understand your conviction Arl Bryland, but the Darkspawn are the greater threat. Howe's betrayal will be dealt with once young Cousland returns with the armies he promised." Loghain replied, turning from the now empty field. "If he follows through I will send the Highever troops north, if you would like to send a contingent tell me when the time comes."

"Dwarves, Elves and Mages. It sounds like something from a fairytale." Teagan said thoughtfully. "Old alliances thought long dead."

Kendell's chuckled cynically, "Were they ever really allies to begin with?"

"See to your men," Loghain ordered as he walked from the scaffolding, Cauthrien ever by his side as he descended the steps. "Make sure they remove any possibility that they be inflicted with the taint, and keep watch in your areas. Cauthrien, send out crews to burn the bodies and blood from the field, charred earth is better than tainted earth."

"Yes My Lord." She replied sharply before moving off to complete her task, leaving him with his two guards.

All was quiet as he walked the distance between the command centre and his own personal tent. The King's tent still stood beside him, still guarded and still with Cailan's personal belongings inside. It had not been taken down nor did he want it taken down. He had already sent word of the King's death to Denerim not wanting to think of how his daughter Anora, the Queen, would take the news. The letter must have reached the city by now.

He shook the thought from his mind and entered his tent, a raised hand letting his guards now that he needed no supervision within his own quarters. It was a simple enough creation, two tables, one his own personal desk covered with correspondence and another covered in maps, a cot to the side, a stand for his armour, a case for his weapons, and a chest of drawers for his other clothes.

He walked past it all, unlatching his sword and placing it on his desk full of maps with a satisfying clink before making his way to the one covered in correspondence and reports. He took a seat at his own desk and looked at the latest letters sent from across the Kingdom. He knew that with the death of the King he was the military authority within Ferelden and all correspondence would go to him. His eyes scanned the newest letters on the pile, one had the seal of the Arl of Amaranthine glaring right back at him, the other had the seal of the Arling of South Reach, the Chantry and the Cousland family.

He took his letter opener, blade embroidered with the seal of the Teyrnir, and opened the letter from Lothering first. It was a letter written by the Revered Mother of Lothering.

 _My Dear Teyrn_

 _I write to you with the greatest of urgency, as a voice to the people of Lothering who at this time have none and as a servant of the Maker._

 _As I write this letter we are only just recovering from a sudden attack from a sizable force of Darkspawn from the direction of Ostagar. I hope that this letter finds you and the army well. We would have been defeated and overrun if not for the efforts of the Grey Wardens who passed through. Young August Cousland, Grey Warden, had managed to assemble a force to successfully defend the village before moving on his way._

 _I ask for troops to be sent to us, to protect this village from any further incursions and to keep the supply routes open for your own troops at Ostagar. I apologise that I must ask this of you but I feel that it cannot be left unsaid. The village needs protection and should we fall your own lines of supply and reinforcement would be destroyed._

 _With best wishes and respect._

 _Revered Mother Marianne, of the Lothering Chantry._

So the young Cousland was already gallivanting around acting like a Grey Warden, protecting the weak and fighting the Darkspawn wherever he found it. It was certainly a damn sight better than what Duncan had been doing, sitting in his headquarters and trading correspondence with his handlers in Orlais.

Loghain placed the letter on his desk, considering the words written. A company of men at arms could be sent to Lothering to strengthen the militia, one of the more tired companies which could then be rotated out with others as time progressed.

With that in mind he took his letter opener once again, cut open the letter bearing the signature of the Arl of Amaranthine and began reading. It had crossed his mind how correspondence from a traitor could make its way into his satchel, either it arrived before news of Highever became known or Howe had some very resourceful spies specialising in getting information where he wanted it to go. He knew of what Howe had done, the horror stories of what happened in Castle Cousland and beyond but he felt compelled to hear the Arl's arguments on the matter. In all of the years since the rebellion there had rarely been such a Ferelden patriot as Arl Rendon Howe, few others shared Loghain's inherent hatred for anything remotely Orlessian.

 _To Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren._

 _I will not mince words or exchange pleasantries. I know that you are a man who tires of such things. So I will keep this short and to the point._

 _Word will have reached you of the events happening in the north of the country, rumours and speculation must be running rife as well as the anger of the surviving members of the Cousland family. I will not apologise for what has happened, though I feel guilt for what has transpired I am certain that this was the only course of action open to me._

 _I have received evidence that the Couslands were involved in secret negotiations with the Empress of Orlais to join the crowns of Ferelden and Orlais in a Royal union, other prominent names included Arl Eamon Guerrin and, it pains me to say it, King Cailan himself. At first I considered these accusations a fabrication, ludicrous, however I decided to dig deeper. Alongside this letter will be copies of correspondence between these individuals and several prominent Orlesian nobles, stretching back to the negotiations which led to the normalisation of relations._

 _I do not ask to be pardoned for what I have done, nor do I seek recognition. I only plead that you will keep a calm head, examine the evidence and come to your own conclusions._

 _Your continued humble servant._

 _Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine._

He looked down at his desk, seeing a thicker envelope which undoubtedly carried Howe's supposed evidence. He read the letter again, and then re-read it, committing every word to memory before placing it down on his desk and glaring at the thick envelope. This could easily be Howe fabricating forgeries to make his actions look just, or it could be the truth and a conspiracy to bring Ferelden back into the fold of the very Empire they fought so hard to leave.

He hesitated for a long time, before picking up the envelope and slicing it open.

* * *

Silence hung in the air, so heavy it made it hard to breath. That name, muttered from the lips of an Apostate Mage echoed through his mind, like he was standing in the middle of a huge cavern and shouting. Even Alistair, who had never trusted the Teyrn since the events after the battle was noticeably shocked.

"That can't be right." Alistair whispered, low and hoarse as he cleared his throat. "You're saying that Loghain hired you to poison Arl Eamon?"

"Yes." He replied, fidgeting under their hard gazes.

"Teyrn Loghain, the General at Ostagar hmm?" Morrigan asked.

"Yes the General at Ostagar, and as of now the most powerful man in Ferelden." August answered, frowning as he studied Jowan. "So you escaped the tower, were found by the Teyrn and sent on this mission to poison the Arl in exchange for your freedom?"

"That's it, yes."

"Was it Loghain himself who gave you the mission?" He asked.

The man once again fidgeted from behind his bars, "No, it was some of his men."

"Do you remember the man who gave you the mission?"

"No, he was wearing a cloak." The Apostate replied.

"I can't believe this. Loghain poisoned Arl Eamon." Alistair muttered. It all suddenly seemed to be so clear to him, from his actions after the battle weeks ago up until this point.

"Calm down, Alistair." August admonished softly.

"What - Didn't you? How can I calm down?" Alistair exclaimed, pointing at Jowan. "Loghain didn't just plan against the Grey Wardens but he has also started killing off the nobles as well. Arl Eamon - what has he done to deserve this!?"

"We don't know yet if it was Loghain."

"Are you insane?" Alistair nearly shouted, pointing at the Mage who shrank back from the bars. "He said it was Loghain who gave the order!"

"He said Loghain put him up to it, sure." August replied thoughtfully. Something didn't add up, something he was in the middle of confirming before Alistair made his opinions known. What did Loghain gain from removing Arl Eamon from the picture? If not him then who else would benefit from the Teyrn being implicated? "Think for a moment Alistair. We have a runaway Mage who poisoned the Arl and all too easily gave the Teyrn's name away when confronted. He wasn't given orders by the Teyrn himself but by an agent. Don't you think that was a little too easy?"

"Too easy?" Alistair asked, blinking.

"Tis a difficult thing for you, I'm sure but please try to keep up." Morrigan quipped, a smirk forming when Alistair levelled a murderous glare her way.

"All I'm saying is that we have no evidence besides the words of an Apostate Mage." August replied, raising his hands. "If it is Loghain who did it wouldn't it be better to find actual evidence as to his involvement. If we go and accuse the Teyrn of this now we'll be laughed out of his tent, probably give him an excuse to remove us from the equation like he tried to do before."

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, to refute the logic thrown at him, but every time he opened his mouth he found himself closing it again, a war waging in his mind. August didn't wait for Alistair to reply, instead turning back to the Mage, studying him intensely.

"So, what will happen to me." He asked, moving away from the bars and back into the middle of the cell.

"I say we kill him, and put an end to this." Alistair growled.

Morrigan scoffed, "Yes, kill the defenceless Mage. If we have no other use for him then I say we release him and let him be on his own."

"We will do neither," August scowled at them both before turning back to the trembling man. "You will remain in here until we return for you."

"Oh thank you sir, thank you." The relief seemed to flood off of him in waves, even though he had seemed prepared for death some time ago. August looked at the man for a long moment before turning and walking towards the exit of the dungeon, Morrigan began following immediately while Alistair lingered for a long moment, glaring at the Apostate before catching up to them.

"You're letting him live?" Alistair asked, confounded.

"Yes," August replied. Turning his head slightly so he could see his fellow Grey Warden. "He may still know things that we need to know."

He could understand Alistair's frustration and anger. The old Arl was something of a father figure to him, August knew that much, and if the roles were reversed he knew he would be in the same position. If he stood here, within these cells and found the man responsible for murdering his father would he have been any different to how Alistair acted now? He knew for a fact that he would have acted the same. He had an advantage in being able to see through this with at least a little clarity, a little detachment.

A little rationality.

"Are you letting him live because of that, or because he's a friend of Gwyneth?" Alistair asked, anger and bitterness evident in his every word.

August stopped dead in his tracks, in his very movement at his fellow Wardens words. Slowly he turned to Alistair, eyes studying him for the longest of moments. He wandered if such a thought were true. Did he have such feelings for Gwyneth? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he did have feelings for a certain Mage who showed more courage and honour than almost anyone else since he left Castle Cousland.

"My feelings for Gwyneth are irrelevant, and you now it." August replied as he turned to face him, taking a step forward so that their noses were within millimetres of each other. "A serious allegation has been made here, and I refuse to act on it until I have the full story, and all of the facts. So he will live, and let anyone else who says otherwise speak up now!"

He meant if for everyone in the chamber, to Alistair and Morrigan but also to the Mage in the cell. It was a half challenge if ever there was one. A challenge that if Alistair thought he could do better as leader of this little band then let him stand up and claim it, and if not then do not question his decisions again. For a long moment the older Warden stood firm, and August felt a little spark of dread within him. It was a dread born from an idea that he would need to defend his decision with steel after all, and against the only other Grey Warden in their group, one he thought a friend.

Then the fire dimmed in his eyes, Alistair looked to his left, away from August. He scowled, he frowned but then he backed down. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense."

August did not allow his relief to show as he nodded to Alistair before turning back to Jowan. "You will remain within this cell. We will continue into the castle and do what needs to be done."

"Yes, Ser Warden." Jowan replied, bowing his head low. "Thank you."

August's eyes were on him for a long moment, piercing, then he turned on his heel and stalked out of the chamber. Alistair and Morrigan followed, the Swamp Witch sighed dramatically. "Tis such drama over very little."

* * *

It had been a fairly uneventful few minutes as they checked through the rest of the dungeon. There had only been a few undead corpses skulking around and they had been easily destroyed with magic and steel. So Gwyneth, Leliana, Sten and Varis finished checking the assortment of dark corpse strewn hallways of empty cells and came to the exit, a spiral staircase of stone steps. There they waited for August, Alistair and Morrigan to catch up.

Varis and Leliana were speaking, but Gwyneth wasn't paying attention. She stared at the spiral staircase without actually seeing it, fair brow furrowing. Jowan was in the castle, locked up in the dungeon when last she saw him he was in the library of the Circle Tower, peering over some book.

She couldn't get it into her head that in the time since she last saw him he had escaped the tower, been branded an Apostate and was one of the main people responsible for this madness. Her mind rebelled at the very thought that Jowan, meek and timid Jowan, had not just managed something as daring as escaping the Circle but had also poisoned someone.

A hand was placed on her shoulder, making her flinch and turn to see Leliana looking down at her, a look of concern in her blue eyes. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head, offering the Sister a wan smile, "Yes, I'm fine."

She wasn't convinced, Gwyneth could see that but she didn't press the issue, instead she sat beside the Mage, offering a reassuring smile and waited. Gwyneth was grateful for this. She needed some time to get this jumble of thoughts into order before she talked to anyone. She looked around, seeing that Sten was leaning against the far wall of the hallway and Varis was hovering around the mouth of the staircase.

August soon arrived, accompanied by a moody Alistair and an as always smirking Morrigan. Gwyneth looked between the three of them, fighting herself to ask the question plaguing her.

Leliana was the one who asked for her. "The Mage is alive I take it, yes?"

August nodded. "He'll remain in the cell until we figure out what to do with him."

Gwyneth felt a wave of relief flood through her, casting the Sister a thankful look before turning back to August. She noticed how Alistair flinched a little, not much but a little, when Leliana asked about Jowan. Morrigan harrumphed softly, folding her arms and looking at the mouth of the spiral staircase.

"What we have seen down here, as bad as it is, is only the beginning. There's probably going to be a lot of worse things up there than walking corpses." August looked at each person in turn. "Draw your weapons, and be ready for anything."

* * *

There were demons waiting for them in the Castle proper, more animated corpses and Shades. Most had never seen a Shade before, until this moment the only Shades they had ever seen were illustrations in books. It was nothing like seeing the real thing. They were grotesque creatures of rippling dark muscle, bodies rank with rot and decay, long wickedly sharp claws and a deformed face hidden under a ragged cowl. They moved like nothing of the living, instead seemingly gliding ethereally towards them, leaving a dark haze in their wake.

They were met with weapons and spells. August led the charge, drawing both his long dagger and family sword. Alistair and Sten soon followed, the Grey Warden using his shield to deflect one of those claws from impaling August while the big Qunari sliced one in two with a wide sweep of his Greatsword. Varis followed, drawing knives and moving with a brutal elegance, sidestepping claws and dancing around the demons with swift precision.

Morrigan and Gwyneth remained behind them, casting elements of flame and ice, unleashing hexes and healing spells. The stale, death reeking air was alight with the ethereal light of their magic, greens and blues flashing and glowing, casting flickering dark shadows with every flash of an unleashed spell. Leliana too remained behind the main group, expertly sending arrow after arrow into the host of demonic beasts before them.

When they cleared out the main chamber leading to the dungeons they continued on, moving from room to room, destroying what Fade spawned creatures they could find. More corpses and Shades were waiting for them, seemingly behind every door and skulking in every dark corner. They were but followers, Morrigan had explained. Lesser demons who heard the call of a stronger one and surrendered themselves to its rule so that they could leave the Fade for the mortal world.

They even found a survivors. When Sten had found a locked door and kicked it down they were met with a shivering and terrified young woman, who turned out to be the blacksmiths daughter Valena. The poor girl didn't seem to believe that she was seeing actual living people and not an undead corpse for several moments before lunging at the nearest living body, which was Leliana, crying into her armour.

Leliana smiled softly, hand caressing her blonde hair. "Shh, it's alright. You're safe now."

"Thank you," she managed between hiccups. "Oh Maker thank you. I thought I was going to die here."

Morrigan grunted in disgust at the door and moved on when Sten and Varis, deciding to check the other door down for anymore demons to fight. August remained behind with Alistair and Gwyneth, waiting for the girl to calm down before he began asking her some questions about what was happening. He had the words of the Arlessa and the confession of the Apostate, but he wanted to see if their words held up to someone with no agenda other than surviving.

"What happened here?" He asked. There was the sounds of fighting further down the hall and with a glance Alistair and Gwyneth left the room to help the others, leaving August, Leliana and Valena alone. They had managed to calm her and gave her a chair to sit on. "Tell me anything you can remember."

"Yes, Ser Warden." She hesitated, hands on her lap and eyes haunted. "Well first the Arl became sick, and a little while later there was rumours that he had been poisoned and someone had been arrested. I think it was the young Masters tutor, the one who was hired recently... Joran, Jalen or something like that. There was all sorts of rumours about him and the Arlessa. Things I thought were stupid before all this happened."

"What kind of rumours?" August asked.

"That the tutor and the Arlessa were secret lovers. She was withholding something from the good Arl she was." Valena answered, brow furrowing as she tried to remember things she had thought silly but now didn't know what to believe. "That she and him were doing blood magic rituals, things like that Ser."

"I see."

"A few days later we heard about a fight in the guardroom, one of the men went mad and killed another guard, then everyone seemed to go mad, turning on and killing each other for the slightest thing." A heavy sob escaped her throat, and she reached up to wipe her eyes. August and Leliana did not hurry her, even as the echoes of steel and zips of magic got less noticeable.

Leliana placed a hand on the girls shoulder, offering her a soft smile of understanding. "Take your time."

She nodded, head in her hands, a hiccup escaping her. "I'm sorry."

August would admit that the Sister had something of a gift in calming people. "Don't be."

After a few more moments she calmed herself down, looking up at him with watery eyes. "It was horrible. The guards didn't just kill each other but anyone who they even thought looked at them the wrong way. They killed Hamil, just grabbed him by his neck and stabbed a sword into his belly. Hamil was an old man, never had a bad word to say about anybody and they killed him like that."

August nodded, "What happened next?"

"The dead were left where they were killed, and a few days later they just started to get up and walk. The guards tried to put them down but they got killed instead, and then they started to get back up. A few of the servants tried to escape and were cut down, after a while we realised that if you stayed inside the castle and out of their way they would leave us alone." She took a deep breath. "Then they started calling people to the main hall, and those who were called never came back. If you strayed too close you heard them screaming. I was terrified that I would be next so I barricaded myself in here."

"Once we clear out the last of the demons we'll get you out of the castle," August said.

"Thank you Ser." She managed, fighting back a sob of joy and relief, a small glimmer of hope surfacing that she might get out of here alive, something she had almost lost in her days here alone.

"Where is the Arlessa and her son?"

"They're in the great hall still, Ser Warden."

"Stay here and stay hidden, once we deal with this we'll be back for you." He ordered.

Leliana caught her attention with a comforting squeeze of her shoulder, "You're father will be overjoyed to know that you're safe."

At the mention of her father she seemed on the verge of tears, but kept her composure this time. "Yes, thank you."

They left the room and found that the battle was over when they rejoined their companions, the last Shade turning to ash with a well timed swing of Sten's sword. "The centre of this is in the main hall. I don't know what we'll find but keep your eyes peeled and yours ears sharp."

They all nodded and followed him. August knew where the main hall was. He had visited the castle with his father a few times and had a rough knowledge of the fortresses layout. It didn't take long for him to remember where they were, and where they needed to go to reach the castles Great Hall. The doors were locked, but between August, Sten and Alistair's weight they managed to break the doors open.

What they found within made their blood run cold. August had met Ser Perth a few times, and found him to be a steadfast warrior, a man of integrity and undyingly loyal to Eamon Guerrin. He had been the leader of the Arl's knight for many years, and had proven his courage in August's eyes when he volunteered to go with the Arlessa and give them the time they needed.

That man was lying on the floor, surrounded by the ruby pool of his own blood, sword a few feet away from slack hands, a face contorted in horror frozen in time. Standing above him, hands coated crimson was the Arl's son, a vicious grin on his face as he looked upon the recently deceased corpse. Flanking his left and right were two Greater Shades, hovering around him in unnatural silence.

Several feet away from the carnage was the Arlessa, on her knees, hands covering her mouth and eyes wide in horror. Further back still, sitting on his throne was what looked like a perfectly healthy Arl, yet upon closer inspection there was no life in his movements or his eyes. He looked like a well made doll.

"Do you see what happens when I don't get what I want, mother?" Connor said in a voice not his own, one which was distorted and nightmarish. The very sound brought a chill up August's spine. "I asked for you to bring me my Uncle, and instead you bring me this wretch."

"I told you Bann Teagon is not here." She whimpered, shivering like a leaf. "He took our soldiers to Ostagar a few weeks ago, I told you this."

"And I told you I do not care where he is, only that you bring him here. I am bored and I want to play." Connor replied, turning to offer her a chilling smile.

"Connor." Alistair whispered in horror, taking a step into the room. August just managed to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

Their movements caught the possessed child's attention, "Well what is this. We have guests."

The two Greater Shades were already moving, claws outstretched and howls piercing the echoing hall. Leliana was the quickest to act, nocking an arrow with speed and letting it fly. Its aim was true and it went into the closest ones right eye socket, yet it continued as if it hadn't been hit at all.

It floated right into August's longsword and continued until his weapon dug into the hilt, dragging him back several steps, claws grabbing onto his shoulder plates. August looked into a nightmarish visage of deformity, mouth open and closing as it tried to bite his face off, only stopped when he grabbed it's chin with his free hand and held it back with all his strength. It reeked of rotting flesh and death, filling his nostrils with the vile odour. August felt ill by just being in the creatures close proximity.

Varis jumped on its back, daggers stabbing just under the shoulder blades and hanging on for dear life when it registered the pain and started thrashing, falling to the ground and taking both men along with it.

August drew his long bladed dagger and used his free hand to plunge it into the Shades throat. A spurt of black fluid, and this time he got a response as it howled in pain. It released him and allowed him to roll away from the monster, dragging his sword with him. Varis in turn also released his hold on his knives and rolled away, coming up on a knee and drawing another duo of daggers from wherever he keeps the weapons stashed.

Morrigan chose that moment to act, sending a stream of flame from her staff, encompassing the thrashing Shade in magical hellfire. The creature screamed in agony and savage hatred as it's tattered clothes were set alight alongside it's deformed skin and muscle. Soon it moved no more, fading back to whatever hell it came from.

The other Greater Shade had also been destroyed. Sten and Alistair working together while Gwyneth cast hexes to slow it down. It was destroyed when the Qunari brought his Greatsword down upon its head, chopping it off in a calm violent motion. The Shades body thrashed, headless, for a few tense moments before flopping onto its stomach and fading away just like it's partner did.

August turned to Varis, his breath coming and going in gasps. He was desperately trying to hold in his lunch, the stench still clear. "Thanks."

Varis, as shaken and breathless as the Grey Warden nodded, all semblance of bravado forgotten. "You're welcome."

Clapping echoed through the main hall, and they looked up to see that it was Connor doing the clapping, a smile of deceptive childhood innocence etched on his face. "You defeated them, well done well done. Nobody else here could do that. They all died screaming."

"Oh is that a fact?" August asked, rising to his feet.

"Yes, yes it is." Connor replied, eyes settling on Varis and allowing a harsh laugh to escape him. "The funniest were the Elves, how much they screamed when my friends ripped their ears off!"

Varis tensed, and August was just able to catch his eye and shake his head. This was exactly what demons were known for. The books and research he had read were clear on this. The moment they made it to the mortal world they would be responsible for acts of unbelievable malice and cruelty, and gloat about it. They would especially do this when it would give them an advantage.

Just like now.

He held Varis's gaze until he was certain the Elf wouldn't do anything rash, and then took a few steps forward. "If you can hear me Connor I am very disappointed in you, letting such a creature get the better of one of the noble lines of Ferelden, letting it have its way with you and terrorising your people. You're lucky I promised your mother I would save you."

"Oh," the boy replied, turning to look at his distraught mother. "Did you, now?"

"You're damn right I did," August replied, bending over to pick up his dagger from the stone floor. "I'm tired of talking to someone of such abysmally low intelligence, summon your friends and let's get this over with."

He would never admit to this in front of civilised company, but breaking into a castle of horrors, fighting against demons, saving damsels in distress and generally being a nuisance brought life to a person who until recently had felt fifty years older than he really was. He felt a little like himself again, that young son of a Teyrn who didn't shy away from a fight, who would rather lead a squadron of men-at-arms against thugs and bandits terrorising his people instead of sitting on a comfy chair complaining about why his men haven't done something about it. Highever Castle may have broken him, but here, in Redcliffe Castle he began to feel a little like himself again.

And in this place where there was nothing but bad news. Where a young boy was found to be a Mage. Where a mother panicked and tried to protect her son against the powers that be. Where an Apostate was brought in to teach the boy and poisoned the Arl instead. Where the son, in desperation, made a deal with a demon. When hell itself was unleashed on Thedas. When innocent people were killed because of some political or military ambition gone horribly wrong. Despite all of that him feeling alive again was one piece of good news in a torrent of ill.

"Very well," Connor replied, smirking. "If it is death you seek I will be more than happy to oblige you."

"Now you're starting to sound like an Arl," August replied, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "You're bringing your guests some entertainment."

It wasn't demons or animated corpses this time. This time it was men, the Arl's own guards, their minds controlled by whatever creature possessed his son. They rose from their chairs in the hall, fully armed and armoured in the colours of Redcliffe and drew their weapons. August watched as they approached, slowly, with sudden movements not unlike puppets with strings, their eyes were sunken and lifeless just like the fake Arl which was even now rising from his throne.

"Kill them!" The thing in Connors skin barked.

The men drew their weapons as they approached. The fake Arl slowly descended the steps. August lowered into a defensive stance, even as the warriors of his group setup a semicircle around their Mages. "Don't kill them if you can."

"Easier said than done." Varis hissed.

Leliana, even as the Elf made his opinion known, nocked an arrow and loosed it into the leg of one of the approaching soldiers. The man fell, moaning in pain as the spell was broken. "Looks like you just have to hit them hard enough and they'll be themselves again."

Sten hummed to himself, looking at his Greatsword before sidestepping the first soldier to get close and, using the flat end of his blade smacked him on the head as softly as he could manage. It was still enough to send the poor soul face first into the stone hard enough to knock him out, and possibly break a nose. Alistair also obliged, smashing his shield into one of their faces, flooring him with the effort.

Morrigan and Gwyneth began casting hexes, slowing down the guards and allowing the others to get close enough to knock them down. The guards themselves put up little resistance, their movements sluggish and their aim drunken. Once they were struck they fell like puppets with their strings cut. The thing that possessed Connor looked at the spectacle with disbelief and rage.

"No," he shouted, anger quickly morphing into denial. "No, no, no, no, nononono!"

Another Greater Shade materialised behind him, soaring through the air towards their group with claws outstretched. They were ready for it this time though, Gwyneth and Morrigan froze the creature in place before it could reach Varis and together the Elf, August, Alistair and Sten hacked the creature to pieces before it could thaw itself.

When they looked up the possessed boy was gone and the doll of Eamon Teagen was almost upon them. Gwyneth and Morrigan froze the thing in place, just like they did with the Greater Shade, only for the golem like creature to break free in an explosion of ice shards through shear strength and level Sten with a punch to his jaw. Alistair brought up his shield just in time to block a punch but the force of the blow forced the Warden off his feet and onto his back.

Leliana let an arrow fly, impaling the Arl's right hand but it didn't even slow him down. Gwyneth and Morrigan tried to freeze the thing in place again and were partially successful, yet still the fake Arl kept coming. Varis charged the doll, falling onto his back as he ran and sliding past the creature before using his knives to cut the tendons of its knees. It just turned to him and tried to smash his skull with its boot.

Only when August circled the creature and rushed it did the thing die. He ran and jumped, hacking its head off its shoulders with a slice more steeped in luck than skill. The head bounced off the stone slab floor, and the golem which was the Arl disintegrated into a large pile of dirt and dust. For a long moment he and his party remained where they were, catching their breathes. Gwyneth checked on Sten, and healed his dislocated jaw much to the giants chagrin.

"Where is he?" August asked through harsh intakes and outtakes of breathe.

"He ran to our personal apartments," The Arlessa replied, only now getting back up on shaking feet. "Please, you must save him."

"We will, Arlessa, we will." August replied reassuringly, eyes sweeping the hall for anymore enemies before he promptly fell on his backside, an entire day and night of constant fighting and strategising finally catching up to him. "Just give us a little second."

The others were in a similar state, all needing rest yet well aware that they could not afford it. The main structure of the castle may now be demon free but there were still other places, like the cellars and the courtyard, the outbuildings and the battlements which were probably swarming with the remnants of the child possessing demons entourage. Then there was the demon possessed child still running around the castle.

Varis managed to stagger and half collapse half sit beside him, the lithe Elf exhaling and inhaling gasps of air as urgently as he was. He meet August's eyes and smirked. "Not the best way to end a battle, eh?"

A bark of laughter escaped the Cousland boys throat. "No, not at all."

* * *

Teyrn Loghain frowned at the strewn papers on his desk, hands pressing back his dark hair from his face. He had read through all of the information, all of the copies Arl Howe had presented to him and he had to concede that if this was a ploy by Howe it was a very thorough one.

There were documents signed by Bryce Cousland, co-signed by his wife Eleanor and return letters from several prominent dignitaries and nobles including Duke Prosper De Montford and even several close officials of the Empress herself, though Celene's name was curiously absent. There was also copies of correspondence with the heraldry and mark of the Couslands, the Guerrins and even that of the King himself.

The first letters were fairly normal, about diplomatic negotiations the Teyrn was well aware off. The normalisation of relations between the Kingdom and the Empire, the trade agreements and non-aggression pacts which had been signed over the last five years. While he had not agreed with them at the time he knew that many others didn't share his sentiment, that many would rather have cordial relations with their larger neighbour instead of constantly being ready for war.

If Rendon Howe wanted to persuade him with this as a reason for massacring the Cousland's in their castle then he sorely overestimated the man's intelligence. It was common knowledge that Eamon and Bryce were the chief negotiators in the treaties and just because they were successful didn't mean they were preparing to hand Ferelden to Orlais on a silver platter.

Then the letters had taken a more sinister turn, and it was around this time that the King's signature was added to the correspondence. Loghain knew that he and Cailan had disagreed on many things regarding the Kingdom and it's international relations, especially when it came to Orlais, but for Cailan to do what these letters insinuated brought cold betrayal and boiling anger to him in equal measure.

The correspondence between him and Celene was more than cordial or diplomatically acceptable, it was downright flirtatious. That he would write such things to another woman when he had wilfully handed his own daughter to him at the altar. That made him angry and disappointed. What he found next made him borderline want to bring the man back so he could choke the life out of him with his own hands.

A union of the crowns of Ferelden and Orlais, including lists of targets within the military, political and noble structures of both countries who needed to be either dissuaded or removed from the equation to make it a reality. His name being chief amongst them. That he was willing to divorce Anora and marry the Empress. The Teyrn had known there had been rumours of his daughter being barren, it was rife in the Kingdom considering the last few years of marriage and no sign of an heir, but reading these words, written with Cailan's own hand, brought a cold fury he had not felt since the War of Independence with Orlais so many years ago.

And that both Bryce and Eamon were aware of it and actively supported it. He had never thought much of Arl Eamon, the man had remained out of the war with Orlais until it was fairly obvious that Ferelden was going to win, letting his older sister take all the risks for him. But for _Bryce Cousland_ , who had fought against the Orlesians from the very beginning alongside the Rebel Queen, to be giving his blessing for such a thing was beyond absurd yet here it was in writing.

"My Lord Teyrn!"

Loghain stirred from his thoughts, looking up in time for one of his guards to poke his head through the opening of his tent. He scowled at the man, eyes hard and mouth set in a snarl of contempt. The soldier flinched under his gaze.

"Yes, what is it!"

"Begging your pardon my lord but there's news," the soldier replied hesitantly, not wishing to be in the presence of his lords ire. "Fergus Cousland is awake."

* * *

 _It's not on Friday but what the hell, something of a long chapter to keep you all going. Once again I might not be able to keep up with my Friday deadline, but this it just to let you know that I'm still writing this after missing a few deadlines._

 _Special thanks to Leaf Ranger, Impstar, Tostie, Judy, Scarease and_ _lupusadaquilonem_ _for the reviews. I am also currently sitting on 36 favs and 42 follows for the story. Thanks to everyone who has taken an interest in this. As always if you have any questions (which don't require spoilers) or any tips on what you want to see I am all ears._


	11. The Best Laid Plans

_**Chapter 10**_

 _ **The Best Laid Plans**_

August, scowling, turned to Gwyneth. "Do you know anything about demonic possession?"

It was a reasonable question, an important question. They may have taken the Castle back but the threat was still there. Connor was still trapped in his parent's private rooms, he was still possessed and the demon still had plans to try and take back the ground it had lost. August was positive of this. It would try and tempt those still in the castle to free it, or failing that create chaos.

The demon needed to be removed from the equation, preferably without killing the host. August knew as much about exorcising the spirits of the Fade as any normal person. Alistair didn't know much about such things either considering the usual response to a demonically possessed Mage was a blade on an exposed neck. He doubted Leliana, Varis or Sten knew anything. That left the Mages of the group.

The former Circle Mage shook her head, "It's information that only Enchanters and above know off. I wasn't an Enchanter very long before I left the Circle so I never thought to look up on it."

He turned to the other Mage in the room, "Morrigan?"

"Tis possible to break a demons possession of a Mage. However the knowledge usually delves into the realm of blood magic, which mother forbid me to study and I would refuse to do so out of principle." The Wilds Witch replied with a sniff. "Any other attempt would require several skilled Mages and a large amount of Lyrium."

"Which would mean a detour to Kinloch Hold," August replied, frowning. He'd wanted to recruit the Dwarves and their army first instead of the fifty plus Mages of Ferelden's Magi Circle. "Gwyneth, Leliana, see to the guards and try to heal their wounds. Sten and Varis, bring that Mage Jowan up from the dungeons and see if he knows anything helpful. The rest of you do what you can!"

Gwyneth intercepted him when the group broke up, "Jowan couldn't possibly know anything about demonic possession. He was still an apprentice last time I saw him and it didn't look like they were going to put him through his Harrowing anytime soon."

"I still need to check Gwyn," August replied, barely noticing that he had called her by such a familiar term until it came out of his mouth. Thankfully she didn't seem to mind. "It usually pays to check every angle before making a decision."

How right he was. There was so much more coming from Redcliffe Castle other than sick Arl's, possessed Mages and demonic entities roaming the halls. The very rumour that Loghain Mac Tir had used an agent to poison the Arl of Redcliffe would be considered a serious political scandal even during peace time, and with the Darkspawn at their door it threatened to become the catalyst to ripping the country apart. August needed to be very careful how he tread with this information, and both Alistair and Morrigan needed to be careful too.

"I suppose you're right," She replied, hesitant. "Just... go easy on him okay? He's not the type of guy who needs to be hurt to talk."

He nodded, "I'll keep that in mind."

She nodded before heading off towards the wounded, starting with the soldier who Leliana had struck at the beginning of the fight, whispering soft assurances as she pulled the arrow from his leg and healed the wound with a glow of magic. the soldier was still suffering the after-effects of the mind control so he didn't offer much resistance other than to bombard her with questions of what was going on and why he was hurt.

Soon Varis and Sten entered the chamber, flanking a very nervous Jowan. The moment she saw him the Arlessa jumped to her feet and approached him, pointing at him angrily. "You are responsible for all of this. You are the reason why my husband is dying and my son made a deal with a demon. This is all your fault!?"

"I know that," Jowan replied defensively. "But I am here to help!"

"Silence," August growled, casting angry glares at both Isolde and Jowan, but the first subject of his ire was the Arlessa before moving onto the Apostate. "I'll deal with you late, and as for you I have some questions!"

Jowan visibly gulped, "Go ahead."

"Do you know of a way to remove the demon from Connor?" August asked, daring either the Arlessa or the Apostate to contradict him in any way. "Preferably without killing him."

"There are a few ways." Jowan replied, fidgeting over his dirty robes. "The easiest way would be to use blood magic to enter the Fade and fight off the demon, but that would mean a great sacrifice of the blood of the family, usually a close relative would need to be drained of his or her blood for the ritual to work."

"Which would mean death?" August asked.

"Yes," Jowan answered, nodding. "That would mean death."

August growled low in his throat, now more certain than ever that they would need to travel to Kinloch Hold and recruit the Mages first. It would mean a detour, either a long one around the lake or taking a ship to the island where the circle was located. Then a thought struck him, and he cursed himself that he didn't think about it the moment the words left the Apostate's mouth.

"How do you know about a Blood Magic ritual?" August asked, a little dread filling the pit of his stomach. "You've studied Blood Magic."

The Apostate flinched under his glare, visibly gulping before sighing in grim acknowledgement and squaring his shoulders. "Yes."

If there was ever a twist that would make his position any worse it had just happened. People wouldn't believe that the Teyrn of Gwaren had ordered the poisoning of the Arl of Redcliffe based on the words of a desperate Apostate and they sure as the void wouldn't believe the words of a desperate Apostate Blood Mage. Forget being laughed out of the tent, he and his companions would be lucky to leave alive.

"You," he said with conviction. "Have a lot of promise in being a royal pain in my ass!"

Despite the situation Jowan shrugged, "It wouldn't be the first time, I can assure you."

August supposed he could just ignore the fact that he had heard an allegation made against one of the most powerful men in the land, but he couldn't. His duty as a member of the Cousland family, and his own Maker damned curiosity would never allow him to turn his head and ignore what he had heard. He needed more evidence, irrefutable evidence to Loghain's involvement, or a rock solid alibi that the man hadn't been involved and was being framed.

He threw the potential political crisis to the back of his mind and concentrated on trying to focus on the here and now. He would need Mages, both to help him exorcise the demon from Connor and to keep the gravely ill Arl alive. The problem was the time between him leaving this place and coming back with the Mages. He doubted the demon would remain dormant the entire time he was away. An attempt would eventually be made to sow the seeds of chaos again, and make more innocent people victims of things beyond understanding.

"Morrigan, Gwyneth!" He called, turning on his heel to see the two Mages look up and rise to their feet, throwing him very quizzical looks as they approached. "Do either of you know any way to keep that demonically possessed brat in check until I can come back with a small army of Mages?"

Morrigan scowled, "So you are going to try and save the whelp after all?"

August shrugged, "We were going to have to recruit the Mages anyway."

Gwyneth on the other hand was frowning, brow knitted together in deep thought before a small smile spread across her features, "Spirit Tonic."

"Spirit Tonic?" August frowned.

"It's a potion which builds resistance to attacks by spirits," she explained, focusing to remember something she read in an old dusty tome many months ago in the Circle Library. "Usually it's used when in the middle of a battle to resist against demonic attacks, especially against powerful demons, but if the recipient is not in battle it can probably last for several hours. We will need Spindleweed and Rashvine, a lot of both."

Morrigan eyed her fellow Mage for a time, a little glint in her eyes before turning back to August. "I may know a few spells which should be able to temper the demons influence in its surroundings. I can't say how long they will last however."

August nodded, "We will do both. Gwyneth, you and Leliana head back to the town, take Valena with you. I don't want anybody anywhere near this place without my say so, not until this is settled. Tell the villagers to collect as much of those plants as you can. Morrigan, see about casting those spells on Connor. Do you need help in restraining him?"

The Witch shrugged, "No need, I am quite capable of casting those spells well away from the little beast."

"Then work away, Lady Witch." August chastised lightly, smirking at her scowl and huff as she stalked away. Gwyneth giggled under her breath, before calming herself and walking towards Leliana, ready to take the young maid and return her to her father in the village. The Lay-Sister looked more than happy to tag along.

"Sten, remain here with the girls." He ordered, looking at the giant.

"Very well." He agreed.

"Alistair," he shouted, voice echoing through the hall.

"What!?" The former Templar shouted back as he helped one of the wounded onto a bench. "I'm a little busy here so unless you're considering helping you can-"

"Change of plans, we're going to Kinloch Hold!" August cut him off.

A pause, "I was afraid you were going to say that!"

* * *

"So much for Orzammar, huh?" Varis quipped.

"The thing about the best laid plans is that they rarely go by without a hitch." Alistair countered, a bit of his usual sarcastic charm returning.

The entire group had been given the privacy of one of the Castles guestrooms, all crowded around a large oak table. On this table, held down by whatever they could find, was a map of Lake Calenhad including roads, settlements, docks and most importantly the Circle Tower of Kinloch Hold.

"The Dwarves are still pretty high up on the list, they're just pushed back a place or two." August replied, eyes focused on the positions of Redcliffe Castle and the Mages Tower. "Recent events dictate that we make an adjustment to our original plans. Instead of going to Orzammar Alistair and I will be going here, to Kinloch Hold."

"The Circle Tower." Leliana nodded thoughtfully. She and Gwyneth had returned from seeing Valena to her father with happy grins plastered on their faces, joyful that some good had come from this madness. Now her good cheer had vanished when she recalled all that happened here, and what needed to be done to see it put right. "So we're going to be both implementing the treaty and acquiescing for help, yes?"

"Correct." August nodded. "But we're not all going there. Some will need to remain behind to make sure that thing possessing Connor doesn't run amok even if the Spirit Tonic and spells work so Morrigan, Sten and Leliana will remain behind to make sure that doesn't happen while I, Alistair, Gwyneth and Varis go to the Tower."

"The Templar's may be a problem, if you're planning on using the treaty on the full Circle." Alistair warned.

"The Templar's can complain all they want." August replied, tapping his finger on the rolled up parchment which was the Mages treaty. "This treaty is absolute especially during a time of Blight, you and I know it and anyone of sufficient rank within the Chantry knows it. The Knight-Commander will be able to do little more than lodge a protest."

"Um," Gwyneth raised her hand, looking a little pale. "I understand you and Alistair, and even Varis but is it necessary for me to go."

August knew what she meant. Gwyneth had escaped from the Tower and from their conversations she had no intention of going back. Her experiences at Ostagar and beyond had shattered whatever good she had thought of the Circle Tower and the Templar's. It was no longer a sanctuary to her but a prison. "Going back there is the last thing you wish to do, I know this and I'm sorry. But you've lived there, you know the people there and you can help me convince the Mages. It'll be much easier for them to believe our intentions if one of their own stands with us."

"Stop worrying so much Gwyneth," Alistair chimed in, smiling disarmingly. "Don't forget you're a Grey Warden recruit now. You're out of their reach."

Gwyneth gulped softly but nodded. "Yes, I can see where the logic comes from. I'm sorry for being foolish."

"You're not being foolish." August offered, folding his arms. "Let me and Alistair worry about the Templar's. You worry about the Mages, and if need be I'll have Varis keep an eye out for any trouble coming your way."

"Besides me being a glorified bodyguard why am I coming along." Varis asked, throwing Gwyneth a wink. "Not that I mind watching the pretty Mage girl by the way."

August smirked, "How do you feel about doing a spot of thieving."

"Does the sun rise in the east?" The Elf replied.

"I want you to wander around the tower during our stay, when you get free time off course."

"Anything in particular."

"Anything you can find about the Blight, and I'm not talking about history written by some Chantry scholar a hundred years later." August explained. "That tower is supposed to have a very impressive library, and it's not all confined to magical theory... or so the rumours say. You're looking for anything that looks old, and I mean really old."

"Got it, old and dusty." Varis was grinning now, making a very convincing act of ignoring Alistair's outraged glare at both him and August.

"You're going to steal from the Circle Tower?" He asked, aghast.

August and Varis exchanged a look, then shrugged. "Only if we can find something useful."

The Grey Warden blinked, wide eyed and shocked, trying to speak but only managing a few squeaks. Morrigan, who had started to ignore the rest of the meeting couldn't help throw a little barbed quirk in. "Ah, once again we seem to be speaking of things over your head."

"Shut it." Alistair shot back, releasing an exasperated exhale of breath as he pointed to Redcliffe Village. "Were going to need to find a way across the lake. If we can get word out to the boat Captains that we've ended the crisis they'll start coming back. I'll see about getting some riders out to the surrounding settlements, spread the word that its now safe to return. It'll probably take a day or two."

"How long will the Spirit Tonic last?"

"Twill last three days with our current supply," Morrigan shrugged. "That includes our own stocks and what we can find from the market in the village. If the smelly villagers can find more ingredients maybe another day."

"Alistair, send out those riders."

"On it."

* * *

The dungeons were no better now than they were when they arrived. The bodies had been cleared out, taken up top and set in rows in preparation for the funeral pyre but even without them the stench of death and decay was still palpable in the stagnant air, the darkness only broken by the dim light of lanterns, casting long ominous shadows along unforgiving stone walls and iron bars.

Gwyneth stepped through it, ignoring the chill which ran down her spine, a lit lantern held in her pale right hand as she walked. It's rusted handle clinked with each movement, anyone still down here would know she was coming. There was only one person down here.

He sat on the cold floor of his cell, eyes looking past the iron bars into nothing as she turned the corner. Her fellow Mage had been kept in darkness, no lamps or candles lit near him. He blinked, looked up and winced even with the dim light of her lantern.

Jowan looked so different than she remembered. Gone was the neat dark hair and well kept features, gone was the well groomed robes. Now his dark hair was a few centimetres longer and scruffy, his chin was covered with patchworks of stubble and his robes were stained, darkened with dirt and blood. He said nothing when she set down the lantern and sat cross legged across from him, not for several heartbeats, not until she saw the dirt under his fingernails and how his eyes were now old and tired, sunken into his face.

"Are you sure you're allowed down here?" He asked.

She shrugged, "Nobody told me I couldn't."

He smiled, and for a moment she remembered the Jowan who was her friend back at the tower. "You look well, Gwyneth. Outside life suits you."

"Better than you," she replied, stopping herself from smiling in return. Gwyneth had to remind herself of why he was here, of what he had done, of the blood of so many people which was now on his hands. It wasn't just his fault, she knew this, but he would be the one taking the fall. The other person who shared responsibility was an Arlessa after all, a noble, untouchable. "Why did you do it Jowan?"

The smile fell from his face, "I didn't want to go back."

Gwyneth could sympathise. She would rather die than be taken back to the tower. It was an absolute feeling that had taken root when she had been tied to that pole at Ostagar, alone, helpless and at the mercy of a Templar whose face she couldn't even see. She would not tell Jowan this, and to this day she didn't know why she told August her ordeal. "Is going back to the tower really worth all of this?"

He chuckled. "It's not just about me going back to the tower Gwyn. It's a lot more complicated than that."

"Oh really? Enlighten me."

"I'm a blood mage Gwyn." The words made her blood run cold, even as he tried to smile it off. "Didn't the Grey Warden tell you?"

Gwyneth went pale, unable to take her eyes off his. She at first hoped he was joking, that she had misheard him. Jowan, straight laced Jowan who was more comfortable in the library reading books, who struggled when it came to learning intermediary magical theory. She rebelled against the very idea that the man she remembered was a Blood Mage.

"Oh Jowan, how could you." She asked, voice barely higher than a breathe.

"They were going to make me tranquil Gwyn," Jowan told her, rising to his feet. "The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter were going to turn me into a mindless husk without even giving me a chance at the Harrowing! So I decided to learn Blood Magic, as a safeguard, instead of letting them turn me into that!"

"But Jowan don't you know what Blood Magic is, what it does!?" She asked, horror was obvious in the air.

Of all the schools of magic it was Blood Magic which was considered one of the most nefarious. The entire school operated by using the magic inherent in a living person's blood, whether it be the casters or not, taken either willingly or not. It was a powerful art, allowing the Mage to reach new levels of power beyond what they could do alone but it was also the most associated with the corruption of the user and the summoning of demons. In short, outside of the Tevinter Imperium, Blood Magic was a forbidden art.

"Not all of us are as talented as you are, Gwyn." Jowan stopped his slow pacing and turned to her. "You never had to fear about being made tranquil. You were always so sure and confident, always passed all of your classes with flying colours. I didn't have that, I barely passed basic so I needed an edge to get me through! Then I heard they were going to go ahead and I couldn't let them do that to me. I had to get out!"

"Who told you all this?" Gwyneth asked.

"Lily."

"The Lay-Sister you were making eyes for?"

"Yes, we started seeing each other. She was cleaning the Knight-Commander's office and found a letter stating that I was going to be made a tranquil. She told me we had to escape together, start a new life outside of the Chantry's influence." He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was an old man reminiscing about better, happier times. "But we couldn't just escape, not when they had my phylactery. Even if we got out of the tower they'd still be able to send Templar's to hunt me down. We had to destroy my phylactery, so I convinced Mera to help me-"

"Mera!" Jowan winced at her words, looking up to see Gwyneth glaring openly at him. For just a moment he was the fidgeting, nervous apprentice she remembered. She threw that to the back of her mind, locking those memories into a box.

"Yes, I asked her for help." he replied, flinching again under her glare. "She had just passed her Harrowing, it's rumoured she beat your time."

"Mera, Jowan. You dragged _Mera_ into your getaway!?" His little attempt to change the subject was weak, even for him. " _How_ did you drag her into this!?"

Mera, Jowan and she had been nigh inseparable when they were apprentices, always stuck together, studied together and trained together. The little Elf was one of her closest friends in the Circle, she even offered to take her along but Mera had refused. She had always been more at home in the tower than she and Jowan.

"I just told her what I told you, and she decided to help me." He replied, raising his hands in an effort to appease her. "Everything seemed to be going fine. We managed to sneak our way into the phylactery chamber and destroyed my phylactery but the Templar's were waiting for us on the way out. They were going to kill me so I used my Blood Magic to knock them out, just knock them out Gwyn I didn't kill anyone!"

"And what happened to Mera and Lily?"

"When Lily saw me use Blood Magic she panicked, cried about what a mistake she had made and how she never wanted to see me again. As for Mera well, she was as horrified as Lily. She started shouting at me, screaming at me about how stupid I was." He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "She may have been right about that one."

"I didn't ask what they did when they found out your secret Jowan," Gwyn seethed, glare intensifying into something angrier. "I asked where they were!?"

"I don't know!" He shouted back, eyes glistening. "I don't know what happened to them! I just turned around and ran away. I'm not proud of it, leaving Mera and Lily behind!"

"You left them behind!" Anger was morphing into something darker. "Do you know what they'll do to people they consider accomplices to Blood Mages!?"

"No," he managed, a dry gulp escaping him.

"Neither do I!" She screamed at him. "That's the point. Anything even associated with Blood Magic leads to people being punished, severely! Mera could be dead, or made _tranquil_ for all we know! You got her to help you and when she needed help you left her there!"

"Gwyn."

"How could you just leave her there Jowan!?"

"I don't know," he shouted back, sitting down cross legged and looking at the ground. "I don't know!"

Gwyneth glared at him for a long moment, before turning sharply and stalking back the way she had come, not giving Jowan a second glance. She made it three steps before she heard Jowan's voice echoing through the hall. "What are you going to do Gwyn!?"

"Find Mera and get her the hell out of there!" She replied, rounding a corner with a new resolve which was absent when she heard she was going back to the tower. "You just stay in your cell and hope to the Maker that she's still alive!"

She rounded the corner, not giving him a chance to reply. She stalked down the halls and passed empty prison cells, mind a chaotic whirl as she tried to think of a way to get her friend out of there, with or without her permission. The last thing she wanted to see was Mera, little bundle of energy Mera as a rotting corpse or worse, an emotionless husk.

"You going to tell our esteemed leader about your plan?" She turned, managing a surprised squeak which she immediately regretted. Halfway down the hall, leaning casually against the stone was her new chaperone. Varis watched her intently, saying nothing else. How did he even get there? She had just passed him and didn't even know he was there.

"What plan?"

"You breaking one of your friends out of Kinloch Hold."

"What makes you think I even have a plan."

"Gwyneth," Varis sighed, pushing himself off of the stone wall. "I overheard your conversation."

Her blood froze in her veins even as the words left the elf's lips. Here she was caught before she could even formulate a plan. "She's my friend Varis. She got caught up in Jowan's scheme and she's the one who's going to be punished for it... if she hasn't already."

"Then tell the boss, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to help." Varis pressed, and when she didn't respond he shrugged and turned. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" She frowned.

"To tell the boss."

"I-"

"Have a little faith, Lady Mage." Varis cut her off as he walked. "If there's one thing I've learned about the boss he isn't the type to ignore when someone is in trouble."

She hesitated for a moment more, a war waging in her mind, before putting one foot in front of the other and following the elf, through the dungeon, up the staircase and into the castle proper. They passed through a maze of dimly lit stone hallways, finding August conversing with Lady Isolde in harsh tones. The two of them held back, watching as the two of them exchanged angry barbs and insults.

"What are they saying?" She asked.

"How do you think I know?" Varis asked wryly.

"Because your an Elf, better hearing."

"That is a nasty racial slur." He quipped.

Gwyneth sighed, "Can you hear them or can't you."

"I can hear them, yes."

"Then why didn't you just agree?"

"I like messing with people." He shrugged with a knowing grin, ignoring her glare. "The Arlessa isn't taking too kindly to the boss giving her people orders without her permission. The boss had replied that she shouldn't be placed in charge of a peasants hovel let alone an entire Arling."

She couldn't help the smile which spread across her features, "He told her that?"

"He's a noble, or a former noble. He can get away with it." Varis chuckled lightly. "Now it's getting a little petty. She's threatening to go to her brother-in-law, a Bann by the sounds of it, and tell him about this travesty. A second son who would never inherit telling her what to do. She sounds very snobby about the whole thing."

"That is petty." Gwyneth allowed.

"What do you expect from an Orlesian shem." He replied. "I mean Ferelden Shem's, not including those in our company, are bad enough but according to my father the Orlesians were far worse."

"What else are they saying?"

"Our noble Grey Warden has replied that he'll be more than happy to give his own report to the Bann and the Teyrn's about her share of blame... wilfully hiding a young Mage from proper instruction at the Circle, bringing a wanted Apostate guilty of Blood Magic into her husband's halls and how that makes her complicit in everything which has happened."

Gwyneth whistled low.

"And there she goes." True to form the Arlessa stood there, cheeks pink, eyes glaring murderously, hands balled into fists before she stuck up her nose, huffed and spinning on her heel stalked down the hall and past them, throwing a glare of disgust their way as she went. "Not a lovely sight."

The Mage of the two could only agree to that.

"Have fun eavesdropping on our conversation?" August asked, making both start and turn to the Grey Warden. Gwyneth at least had the good graces to look a little ashamed. Varis on the other hand was grinning at him, not an ounce of shame.

"Hey, it was a chance to glimpse into the rose tinted world of our betters. How could I not resist?"

"Varis," August warned, exasperation in his tone. "Is there a reason the two of you are snooping around?"

"Actually we do have a good excuse," the elf allowed, grabbing Gwyneth's wrist and pulling her between the two. "The little Mage has a favour to ask."

"Gwyneth?"

The white haired Mage raised her head to look at him, seeing his questioning eyes and immediately averted them back down to the stone floor. "Um, I don't know how to ask this."

"It's okay," He consoled, smiling kindly. "Go ahead."

She took a deep breath, fought down her doubt, raised her eyes to meet his once again. She told him everything. She told him everything she had learned since she snuck into the dungeon and had a talk with Jowan. How he escaped the tower, of Mera and Lily who he had convinced to help him and who he left behind when they were caught.

"We may already be too late. She might be dead or made tranquil already, but if she is still alive and whole can I ask you to help her?" Gwyneth asked at last.

There was a moment of silence, a release of breath and for a moment cold dread gripped tightly around her stomach, that he might dismiss her request. "Alright."

She blinked, looking up at him in surprise. "What?"

"Alright," he repeated, deep in thought. "The more Mages in my team the merrier. She's not a Blood Mage like Jowan is she?"

"No," she stuttered, just barely able to get her thoughts under control. "From what Jowan told me he didn't tell her and he didn't think she was one either."

"Alright then, if she's still alive and in some trouble then we'll get her out."

"How are you going to do that?"

He shrugged, "I'm a Grey Warden. If it comes to that I have the ultimate trump card."

In the midst of her stunned silence Varis nudged her on the shoulder, "What did I tell you, Lady Mage?"

And in that moment she felt guilty for even thinking of doing this by herself.

* * *

As the people of Redcliffe mourned their dead August and his chosen few embarked across Lake Calenhad on the first ship to make port. It was a small Cog, a single mast sailing ship, big enough to hold them but fast enough to reach their goal ahead of original predictions. The Captain had been more than happy to aid the Grey Wardens, especially when August handed him three gold sovereigns for his trouble.

As the ship exited the harbour and unfurled its sail the Grey Warden looked back at the village, eyes wandering onto the billowing smoke of the funeral pyres, several rising on the outskirts of the village and one solitary black cloud rising from the main courtyard of the castle. All of those killed during this crisis, all of the guardsmen, servants, knights and townsfolk were finally being sent to the Maker's side, permanently this time and with the proper respect.

Morrigan would remain in the castle alongside Sten and Leliana to keep an eye on Connor. They would be joined by just a handful of trusted Knights and the Arlessa herself. Everyone else was specifically told not to go anywhere near the castle, not until they were told otherwise.

"You know when I first became a Grey Warden I didn't expect to fight demons." Alistair said as he came up beside him, arms folded. "And I didn't expect to be anywhere near the Mages Tower."

"Yes, well, desperate times usually call for desperate measures." August replied, turning to his fellow Grey Warden and patting him on the shoulder. "Besides it would get boring if we fought nothing but Darkspawn for the rest of our lives."

"Good point." Alistair nodded, turning to lean against the wooden rail and watch August as he sat on the steps. They were at the rear of the small ship, on the escalated quarterdeck overlooking the main deck. The Captain was a little ways away, hands gripped onto the steering well. "Look August I have something to say."

"Hmm?"

"Well, I'm sorry for what I said in the dungeon," Alistair walked over and sat beside him, dark eyes looking up to see the billowing of the sail. "It was just, I felt so angry with everything that was happening, and when I came across the man responsible for it I just lost my temper. What you said was right, and what I said was wrong."

"Apology accepted," August nodded. "To be honest if the roles were reversed and it was Rendon Howe on the other end of those bars I would have done exactly the same as you did."

"You would?" Alistair asked, eyes blinking slightly in surprise. "That's the last thing I would have expected you to say."

"And why is that?"

"Well because you always seem to be in control." the elder Warden replied. "I mean you always see things most people wouldn't, always ask the right questions, always have some kind of plan and backup plan."

August chuckled dryly. Always in control huh? He was almost certain that the opposite was true. In truth he was a mess, a man continuously on the edge thrust into a leadership role with no clue what he was supposed to do. So he chose to ignore what he didn't know and focus on what he did. He would assemble an army to fight the Blight alongside Ferelden, and he would exact revenge on Howe for the murder of his family. Those were the threads that kept him together, but in truth they were frayed threads.

He wouldn't tell Alistair or anyone else that. The last thing soldiers needed to hear is that their commander is a hairsbreadth away from snapping. "I just keep my eyes open, and I never take anything at face value."

"I figured you'd say that." Alistair allowed.

"It's not just the Apostates fault, you now." He said, and he noticed his fellow Warden still. "There's plenty of blame to go around."

"Like who?" At least he wasn't dismissing it out of hand.

"Don't get me wrong it was Jowan who poisoned the Arl, and he will be punished for that but a good portion of the blame lies on the head of the Arlessa. She knew Connor was a Mage, but instead of going to the Chantry she chose to hide him away, keep his talents a secret from everyone including Eamon himself and hire some inexperienced Hedge Mage to tutor him." August leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. "Isolde shares as much of the blame as Jowan. Then there was Connor, making a deal with a demon in order to save his father, even those of us unfamiliar with magic know how those stories end."

"It was her son though, I suppose you can understand why she did what she did." Alistair allowed morosely.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," August sat up, noticing that Varis wasn't taking the change from land to water as well as they were, with the way he was leaning against the rail and turning a particular shade of green. "It still doesn't change what happened. Motherly love and ignorance are no excuse in the face of what happened."

"I'm not arguing with you on this," Alistair raised his hand in truce, offering August a wan smile. "Arl Eamon is the man who took me in and raised me, Isolde on the other hand never really liked me and I think she considered me a threat to herself. She kept me in the stables and was the one who argued with Eamon to place me in the Chantry. It's Connor that I'm worried about."

"So when you said you slept in the stables and were raised by wolves you weren't joking?" August asked, frowning.

"The wolves part was a joke," Alistair replied, shaking his head. "The stables part wasn't."

August turned to him, frowning as his fellow Wardens words started to sink in. "You mean to tell me that a son of King Maric was forced to live in the stables because of the jealousy of some Orlesian noblewoman?"

Alistair blinked, and then chuckled. "Well when you put it like that."

"And the Arl allowed this?"

"Yes and no. I remember that the Arl and Isolde would argue about me, especially after Connor was born. I think she thought I was Eamon's illegitimate child, a threat to her son's birthright. Anyway he eventually caved in and placed me in the stables as a stable boy, then when I was ten he sent me to the Chantry. I was so angry with him, I wouldn't talk to him no matter how many times he tried." The older Warden looked up at the cloudy sky, eyes watching the billowing of the sails and the gliding winged form of cawing gulls. "The last time we spoke I was so angry, we argued and fought and I remember throwing my mother's medallion onto the ground and shattering it into a thousand pieces. That was the last time I ever saw him. He tried to visit me when I was in the Chantry but I refused to see him and eventually he stopped coming."

"So you think it was the Arlessa pushing the Arl?"

"Yeah, that's what I think" Alistair nodded. "And now he's lying on that bed, life slowing leaving him and all I can think about is that fight the last time we were together. It's doesn't do my conscience a lot of good."

"I'm sure it doesn't." August allowed. Looking back now the last memory August would want of his family was them arguing about something stupid."Well let's get those Mages recruited, go back, save Connor and maybe get a healer to stabilise the Arl. How does that sound?"

His fellow Grey Warden looked up at him, a smile of relief curving his lips. "Thank you."

Taken slightly aback by how honest Alistair's response was August could do little more than offer a shrug. "Don't mention it."

* * *

 _Special thanks to Leaf Ranger, Impstar, Jarjaxle and Guest (gatesofshadows) for the reviews._

 _It looks like my originally idea of updating every Friday is no longer feasible. So I'll just write the next chapter, proof read it and update it once I'm done, on average once every few weeks but don't panic if I miss a deadline. Any questions please either leave it in a review or PM me, and don't forget to leave a review even if you don't have a question, they kind of let me know people are still interested, keep me right on the overall plot, and do wonders for my own confidence._

 _Thanks again in advance._


	12. Circle of Magi

_**Chapter 11**_

 _ **Circle of Magi**_

They saw it long before they set foot on the island, the great tower of stone which was Kinloch Hold. It was a beautiful structure, built on an island just off the coast of Lake Calenhad. At one time long ago there had been an interconnecting bridge between it and the shore, made of the same white stone, but that connection had been severed many years ago and never rebuilt, whether by the withering strength of time or by more manmade means August didn't know.

"Ugh, and here I was thinking I'd never have to see a Circle Tower, lucky me." Alistair quipped.

Gwyneth looked up at him, offering a glare which was ruined by how green her face looked. She may not have taken to seasickness as quickly as Varis had but when it struck it left her as immobilised and miserable as he was. "It wasn't that bad."

Now that was saying something, considering how much she had come to hate the guardians of the Mages since she had left. August supposed he couldn't really cast judgement, what with it being her home for a decade of her life. Almost everyone she knew and cared about were within that spire. "We should be there in the next half hour or so, both of you please try and hang in there until then."

Leaning haphazardly against the wooden wall between deck and water Varis looked up with a pained grimace, "Sure boss, sure. It's not like I have anything left to puke up anyway."

"Oh Maker," Gwyneth grimaced, slender hand covering her mouth as she retched. The Mage bolted for the wooden wall, leaning over it and vomiting.

Varis looked at her with a mixture of disgust and pity before smirking evilly. "Wow, nothing but bile and spit."

"Varis."

"Yes, Lady Mage?"

"One more word and I'll throw you overboard!"

"And how will you do that, sunshine?"

"I am a Mage. I can make it happen."

"And whose bright idea was it to put them together?" Alistair asked, smirking.

"Mine," August replied without an ounce of regret. "You got to admit it's quite entertaining."

"Oh sure, all fun and games until someone gets drowned."

"Should I have brought Morrigan instead?" August asked, knowing exactly what the Wilds Witch's name alone did to his fellow Warden.

He wasn't disappointed, "Maker, no."

"Then deal with those two bickering," August admonished lightly, watching as the two continued to throw barbs at each other. "Besides this is nothing compared to what you two get up too, oh sure they're arguing and fighting but there's nothing malicious in it."

"If you say so."

August shook his head, turning back to see that the bickering had evolved back into them hanging over the edge. "Gwyneth!"

"Yes."

"What can you tell me about the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter?"

With a little effort the Mage straightened, grimacing as the boat rocked even as she tried to think. "The Knight-Commander's name is Gregoir, a tough old fellow who's been the head of the Templar's there for as long as anyone can remember. He's strict and professional, takes his duties very seriously but overall he's very fair when it comes to the treatment of Mages. The First Enchanter's name is Irving, again been in that position for as long as most can remember. He's something like a grandfather figure to almost everyone in the tower, always there to hear our complaints and offer advice."

"So neither of them are zealots?"

She shook her head, "Not even close. Gregoir can't stand anyone who tries to use the words of the Maker for extreme uses, and keeps a close eye on those who get assigned to the circle. If there's any evidence of mistreatment of Mages he sends them back. Irving always looks out for those under his charge, and tries to do what he can to protect us with the powers he has. It's not perfect but compared to the horror stories we hear about other Circles we consider ourselves lucky."

It wasn't long until they reached the small stretch of land, found a rickety looking timber pier and docked the small ship alongside it, helping the Captain throw and secure the ropes to keep the Cog in place before disembarking. Another few pieces of silver made the man more than willing to stay despite his nervousness at being so close to the place where the denizens of magic were gathered. That being done August, Alistair, Gwyneth and Varis left the man and followed the old cobblestone path up the hill towards the entrance to the tower, a large set of stone doors which looked too heavy for a single man to open, no matter how strong.

He and Alistair took the lead, with Gwyneth behind them and Varis behind her. The Mage of the group dragged her feet for a moment until she realised she was falling behind and quickened her step to keep up. She was really unnerved at being so close to the Circle Tower, even with everyone's assurances that she would be fine.

They reached the doors without incident, and August stepped forward as a Templar guard lingering about noticed them and stepped forward. He looked at them sceptically, or that was what August thought. Wearing a helmet made it impossible to see emotion. "Identify yourself."

"I am August Cousland, and this is Alistair, Gwyneth and Varis. We are of the Grey Wardens, here to meet with the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter." August introduced.

The Templar snorted, "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Antiva."

August's eyes narrowed, a mocking smile making its way to his face, "Really? You've certainly changed since the last time we met, your majesty."

The man straightened, "Huh?"

"Oh my apologies, you must not remember me." He bowed in the Antivan fashion, sweeping and majestic if a little rusty. Then again the Templar would be none the wiser. "After all it was ten years ago. My name is August Cousland, you may remember my father the Teyrn Bryce Cousland, who was the diplomatic envoy during those trade agreements between our two great nations."

"Eh," body language could tell plenty, and in this man's case confusion and more than a little dread was visible to the trained eye. "Um... well."

August looked up, fake facade of diplomatic smiles giving way to a stormy glare which made the man flinch. "I will repeat myself boy. I am August Cousland and this is Alistair. We are Grey Wardens sent by the Teyrn Loghain of Gwaren, Commander of the Armies of Ferelden, to meet with the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter of the Circle Tower of Kinloch Hold. Now, will you let your betters know of our arrival or continue to pretend to be a Queen!?"

"Yes, I can even find you a dress." Alistair added, smirking. "I'm sure you'd look quite gorgeous dancing the Antivan Waltz. You should know it off by heart, being the _Queen_ and all."

"Ah... well," the man backed up a step. "Please, Wardens. I will let my superior's know of your arrival immediately."

"Good boy," August allowed, rising to his full height. "Well? Step to it!"

"Yes sir!"

As the Templar shuffled off through the heavy doors and into the fortress proper Alistair turned to inspect his fellow Warden, grinning. "You were in Antiva?"

August shrugged, "More or less. My father was the head of the diplomatic mission to open up trade and he took me and Fergus along to show us how foreign diplomacy was done."

"I see."

"And by the way, the Queen of Antiva is a gorgeous woman, all perfectly tanned skin and luscious auburn hair." He remembered a young woman sitting on a throne too large for her. She had only been crowned a scant two years before and was still trying to grasp the politics of her home country let alone those of foreign emissaries. "That Templar is no comparison."

A snort from the ex-Templar, followed by a laugh from Varis and a muffled giggle from Gwyneth made him relax all the more. The tension eased from their shoulders and in return eased his thoughts. August idly wandered when he had become so comfortable in their presence. When he had allowed his noble mask to drop, or even if he had it on in the first place when he first met each of them.

His thoughts were ended when the Templar returned, with another two in toe, obviously his superiors. The one leading them stopped in front of him, watching him closely even as their two parties sized each other up. His focus went to Gwyneth for a moment before back to him. "What brings you to Kinloch Hold?"

That brought a sardonic smile to his face, "For what other reason? This is concerning the Blight."

"Templar's and Mages have already been sent south to aid the army at Ostagar," the leader of the trio said.

"Well, we are here again," August replied patiently. "And I will repeat again. We are Grey Wardens seeking an audience with the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter of Kinloch Hold. Should I repeat once more?"

The Templar eyed August for a moment, "That will not be necessary, please enter."

"Thank you."

The group entered, walking down the hallway towards the main building itself. Another Templar approached, offering a inclination of his head in greeting even as the one who had led them into the tower spoke. "The Grey Wardens have arrived, and are seeking an audience with Knight-Commander Gregoir and First Enchanter Irvine."

"Very well," the other Templar replied, motioning them onward with a wave of his hand. "Please follow me."

And they did. They followed the armoured man down the main corridor and out into the central chamber. It was here that August began to understand just how large and impressive this tower really was. The ceiling was dozens of feet high, held up by stone pillars and supporting walls. On these walls were huge bookcases filled with tomes and books. Young men and women, dressed in flowing robes, could be seen here and there as well as the odd Templar standing guard at random places. Most stopped what they were doing as they passed, barely heard whispers and excited mumblings followed them.

From what Gwyneth had explained there were a total of five floors. The first floor, the one they were currently on, was where the apprentices lived and also where the vast majority of the library was. The second floor was where those Mages who passed their harrowing presided, and was also where the majority of stock rooms, laboratories, the Chantry and additional libraries were. The third floor housed senior Mages and also consisted of meeting rooms and assembly spaces. The fourth floor was where the Templar's lived and trained and finally the much smaller fifth floor was where the harrowing chamber was located. He guessed that they were either going to be taken to the First Enchanter's quarters on the third floor or the Knight-Commanders on the fourth.

They were, thankfully, taken to the First Enchanter's quarters and it appeared that word of their arrival had gotten ahead of them. First Enchanter Irving was seated behind his desk, rising when they entered and rounding it with quick, smooth steps. Gwyneth was completely surprised when he enveloped her in a hug, one which she returned after the shock passed.

After a long moment the First Enchanter released his former charge, a soft smile of relief spreading across wrinkled aging features. "It is good to see you, my dear."

"It... it is good to see you, Irving." She managed, forcing down the lump in her throat before lowering her head, embarrassed. "I mean, First Enchanter."

He smiled softly at her before turning to August, straightening. Once again he was the First Enchanter of the Circle and not a relieved grandfather. "I apologise for my behaviour, Grey Warden."

August and Alistair waved him off. "Think nothing of it, First Enchanter."

"So you being here means that the rumours were true, Duncan is dead then." Irving said gravely, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I'm afraid so." August replied. "I am August Cousland and this is Alistair."

"I am aware of your names," Irving offered him a small smile. "Your reputation precedes you."

"It is good I hope."

"Lighting the beacon through insurmountable odds, taking victory from the jaws of defeat." The First Enchanter eyed both men, a slight twinkle in his dark eyes. "It is good news of great deeds in an uncertain time."

"Well when you put it like that." Alistair laughed sheepishly.

"Come, please sit." Irving gestured, and the Wardens and companions took his invitation. They sat on chairs as the old man meandered around the large wooden desk and sat on his own chair. "I am afraid we will have to wait for the Knight-Commander to join us before we can begin. He shouldn't be very long."

"I understand."

Sure enough the Knight-Commander entered the room, fully armed and armoured and looking more than a little surly. August, Alistair, Gwyneth and Varis all rose as the leader of the Circle's Templar's entered. "Please, forgive me for being late."

"It is quite alright Gregoir," Irving reassured. "I believe you have heard of these young people here. Grey Wardens August Cousland and Alistair, you remember Gwyneth off course and Varis... I'm sorry my boy I never asked for your last name."

"Varis Tabris, First Enchanter." the Elf replied with a nod.

"Yes, thank you."

"Good evening to you all. Ah, I see you have returned young Amell, good to see you unharmed." He greeted as he walked around them. He ruffled the young girl's hair as he did so, earning him a pout but no real animosity. "And more Grey Wardens, I remember telling the King's envoy that we will not be sending anymore Mages to Ostagar. They are simply too inexperienced in matters of the outside world and ill-equipped to be placed on a battlefield."

"I am afraid matters have changed since then, Knight-Commander." August began. "Tell me, what have you heard from Ostagar?"

"A great victory for the army against the Blight," Gregoir replied, frowning. "The Enchanters and Templar's we sent performed well and beyond the call of duty."

"I see," August nodded, eyes closed for a moment before opening them and meeting both men's questioning gaze. "Then I will be the bearer of ill news I'm afraid. We did indeed win the battle, and the Mages and Templar's did indeed perform admirably, but the King and all Grey Wardens not including myself and my companion were killed."

"Goodness." Irving replied, eyes wide. Gregoir remained silent, but the news was plain on his face to any politician. "This is indeed grave news, that the King would fall in battle."

"Indeed, and the armies own courage hangs by a thread. I regret to say my own thoughts that they will not be able to withstand another assault of that magnitude. It is not a weakness of numbers of strength you understand, but a weakness of the mind and morale, with the death of their leader the army is only kept together by duty and the strength of their lords and commanders." August explained. "That is why we are here?"

Their attention was on the Cousland boy, questioning, but by no means won over. The Knight-Commander spoke, eyes grave. "Speak young man, what is your purpose bringing this news to us in person. I doubt Grey Wardens can be used as messengers."

"You are right in that assumption," August continued, hand outstretched in a gesture Alistair should off and did understand, for he placed his hand into his backpack and brought out the scroll he needed. "It is now confirmed beyond all reasonable doubt that this is a Blight we face and not some oversized war-band from the Deep Roads, and thus with a heavy heart I must ask more of the Circle of Ferelden. This scroll I possess is one of three treaties, signed after the end of the Fourth Blight in 5:24 Exalted and calls upon the Mages of the Circles to aide our order should a Fifth Blight ever befall us. That time is now."

He handed the scroll to Irving, who opened it and read through its contents, after a few tense moments he nodded and handed it to Gregoir to read who studied it with a serious expression. "I see, it certainly bears the necessary signatures from that time period. There are records of such a treaty being signed, though it was thought lost when the Wardens were first exiled from Ferelden."

August nodded, "We managed to find and reclaim them before the battle."

"Forgive me, but you said three treaties." Gregoir asked absently, continuing to read. "I doubt the other two are for the Mages."

He eyed the two of them, assessing. There was a level of respect and understanding between these two men. "You would be correct. The other two treaties were signed by the Dwarves of Orzammar, and the myriad clans of the Dalish Elves. They are also on our list of allies to visit and gain support from once we confirm yours."

Irving leaned back in his chair, eyes looking at the ceiling for a long moment before turning to Gregoir's, "Well old friend, I can confirm that the treaty is indeed genuine. It was signed by First Enchanter Harwin who marched with Garahel's army during the Fourth Blight. I have read enough of his manuscripts and tomes to know the signature."

The old Templar hummed in thought, "I see. I do hope you are not asking every single Mage to march south to help the army. Quite a few of them are underage and I would not like the death of a five year old on my conscience."

Irving nodded in agreement, "I would have to agree with my friend here, Grey Warden. There are a large number of Mages in the tower well below the acceptable age to fight in the army."

"And we are not asking them too, off course." August assured. Alistair, Gwyneth and Varis nodding their agreement with him. "It is the last thing I want to see children marched to war with an enemy like the Darkspawn, and I also understand that some must remain behind to look after them, both Mages and Templar's. I am simply here to confirm the aide of the Mages at least and with a little optimism the Templar's as well. Every spell-wielder and sword-arm will be needed in combating this threat."

The Knight-Commander frowned in thought, handing the treaty back to Irving who skimmed through it one last time. "With your permission Gregoir?"

The Templar sighed, "Who am I to decline a treaty of the Grey Wardens."

Irving offered a smile to them which August accepted, "There you have it, my friends."

"It is more than I could have hoped for," August replied, rising to his feet. "If you can call all Mages who have passed their Harrowing to one of the larger assembly areas so I can speak to them in person I would be grateful. I would rather have volunteers than conscripts."

Gregoir nodded, "I will assemble my most seasoned Templar's, and send word out to all the monasteries across Ferelden. Such a threat cannot be ignored by our order."

Irving smirked, "Why Gregoir, when did you become so agreeable?"

The Knight-Commander sighed, sending a half-hearted glare at the First-Enchanter. "Irving, really?"

August had to suppress a smile.

* * *

"You know I was expecting worse."

August spared a look at Varis as the young man spoke, eyebrow raised. The Mages were trickling into the assembly hall, looking at them with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. It was almost like most of them had never seen anyone in armour outside of the Templar's who guarded them. More than a few saw Gwyneth and offered waves and smiles which she was returning.

"How so?" He asked.

"Well with our luck so far I was expecting a demon infestation or something," he replied, shrugging off Gwyneth when her head snapped to him. "Don't give me that look Lady Mage. I meant that your first job was lighting that beacon at Ostagar which you just managed to do. Then there was that whole near disaster at Lothering and then Redcliffe. I was expecting something bad to happen here as well."

"We can't have bad luck _all_ the time." Alistair quipped.

"You got to admit it seemed that way until now." Varis replied.

Gwyneth didn't reply to that, mainly because he had been right. With what had happened at Ostagar, Lothering and Redcliffe she had feared that the madness had spread to her home as well. That didn't seem to happen mind and she was greatly relieved to have been wrong. August sighed, rubbing the back of his head, knowing that at some point he had also thought that they had done something offensive to a higher power.

But it seemed that the multitude of ill omens had not reached the Circle tower. They had made it without incident, successfully delivered the treaty and were about to speak to the Mages. He had a feeling many would volunteer, more out of a sense of leaving their home on a grand adventure than out of duty. They probably had no idea of the horrors they would be up against and August felt a little guilt in choosing not to tell them.

The trickle of Mages soon became a flood as more robed men and women, humans and elves alike entered the chamber and took their seats. The silence of the hall was soon superseded with whispering chatter, nervous and excited in equal measure. More than a few were looking in his people's direction. Templar's were also entering the chamber, those not on guard duty assembling in little groups.

Irving and Gregoir ascended the steps then, the Templar looking at the unorganised clamour with irritation while the First Enchanter took it all with a grandfatherly smile and more than a little patience. The two spoke quietly for a few moments before Irving nodded and raised his hands. It looked like the pantomime was about to begin.

"Brothers and sisters of the Circle, please lend me your ear!" He called and the mob of Mages soon quietened to allow the old man to speak. "I apologise for assembling you all on such short notice, please be aware it is not some whim of a senile old man." A few chuckles. "It is to introduce you to a man who is very interested in speaking with you all. I present to you August Cousland of the legendary Grey Wardens."

August blinked, but rose to his feet without any further preamble. He had expected that he would be the one to speak, to try and convince them to march south and offer more help. August offered a respectful nod to the First Enchanter as he came to the fore, hearing excited and awed whispers from the assembled group of Mages.

He took a deep breath, "Mages of the Circle of Ferelden it is a privilege to speak to you all." the quiet mutterings ceased and he had their undivided attention. "I come to you with news of the happenings of the outside world and for a request. By now you must all be aware of the rumours coming from the south of the country, of a dark shadow falling upon the land. Indeed several of your own senior Mages answered the call of our King and travelled to Ostagar to aide him against the Darkspawn of the Deep Roads and their Blight upon us." He had been right about their hunger for news, many watched with wide eyes and bated breath. Why wouldn't they? Friends and teachers had left them for this. "I can tell you that the enemy came and we thrashed them royally!" Relieved cheers and applause echoed through the hall. "Never again shall a Darkspawn horde come to Ferelden looking for an easy victory!"

The applause increased in volume and continued until the senior Mages and Templar's hushed their compatriots. August did not try and hurry them, simply waiting patiently for the relieved clamour to die down so he can continue. "I can tell you all that your peers handled themselves with honour and distinction throughout the battle. Their abilities and skills in battle and healing both were essential to victory. But the victory did not come without a price, that price was the death of the King and off most of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden." He paused, seeing the horror written on their faces, worried mutterings could just be heard, snuffed out when he continued. "Because of these losses the situation has changed. I have been speaking to your leaders, First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Gregoir, presenting to them an ancient treaty of the Grey Wardens calling upon the aide of the Mages of the Circle against this threat." A hushed silence, a combined intake of breath. These Mages were an open book just like Gwyneth had been. He could see the excitement on their faces and knew that his worries about volunteers were for nought. "I am not looking to force you or conscript you into this fight. I am calling for volunteers willing to march south and aide the people of Ferelden, _your_ people, against the Blight. What say you!?"

A roar of agreement rose from the assembled Mages. Their excitement was palpable in the air. Dreams of adventure and seeing the world beyond these stone walls was held tantalising close to them and many wanted to take it with open arms. Irving rose from his seat and stepped up beside August, raising his hands to try and gain their attention. It took more time than before for the excited shouting and clamouring to calm enough for him to speak.

"There will off course be restrictions on who can go," he called. "Any Mage with the rank of Enchanter or above is eligible to volunteer. Apprentices will be granted permission depending on their skill and ability. Those under the legal age of adulthood will not be suitable and will remain behind with carers. All interested in volunteering please form an orderly line, no pushing or shoving!"

"We're going to need a ledger, for the names." August said, gripping onto the elderly Mages arm to gain his attention. "Also a Table."

Irving nodded, "Very well."

The table and an empty ledger book were soon presented and the process of signing up volunteers began. None of the assembled Mages left the hall and the line stretched the length of the assembly room before curving around to follow the stone walls. August took a seat, Alistair flanking him as he took a quill and inkwell full of black ink and began scrolling down names. Soon the ledger was full of signatures, going through page after page.

August was surprised midway through when someone appeared in front of him that he had to lean over the table to see. He hid a smile at the duo of small children, a human boy with messy brown hair and a little Elven girl hiding behind him. "I think you two are a little young to volunteer."

The boy placed his hands on his hips and stuck out his upper lip, trying to look as intimidating as possible and not succeeding at all. This time August couldn't help the smile which spread across his face. "We can too. We can fight!"

Alistair chuckled from beside him, "He certainly has the look down. How old are you, five?"

"I'm six," the boy replied, proudly.

"And your friend?" August asked, offering her a little wave which made her smile nervously from behind her protector. She was a beautiful little girl, all blonde curls and big blue eyes. "What age is she?"

"Five," he admitted.

"Do you really want to put her in danger?" He asked, forcing his smile down and replacing it with a piercing look. "I think she's only here because she doesn't want you to leave her behind. Is that right little one?" She hid further behind the boy, yep that settled it as far as August was concerned. She was going nowhere near a battlefield.

"Little ones," Gwyneth was beside them, coming down to a knee so she was her level. "You heard what the First Enchanter said didn't you?"

The boy pouted, "Yeah, but I'm an adult!"

"Not quite yet little one," she allowed, eternally patient and smiling. "You both are still a few years away yet."

The little girl was tugging at his sleeve, giving him a pleading look which would melt the heart of most adults and didn't seem to be ineffective against kids her age either. He pouted, folding his arms and trying to look resolute. Finally the little girl spoke, lilting and pleading, "Kevin, please."

His act lasted another few seconds before he stomped his foot and whined. " _Hanna_!"

Gwyneth smiled at them both before rising to her feet and offering her hands to them, "Come on, I'll take you both back."

She left then, each hand held tightly by small children. Kevin sulked the whole way out of the hall, mainly because most of the surviving Mages and a few of the Templar's were trying their best not to laugh. August managed to hold his smile until they were out of sight while both Alistair and Varis burst out laughing the moment they left. August shook his head before levelling a halfway decent glare at the next Mage in line. "And why didn't you stop them?"

The woman shrugged, helpless. "I didn't have the heart to tell them."

"So you all left it to us?" August sighed, handing her the quill. She signed her name and left with a flourish, Petra was her name.

"That little girl is going to be trouble in a few years." He turned to see Varis grinning. "She already has someone wrapped around her little finger."

"She will be trouble. Several years from now." August replied, handing the next Mage in line the quill.

It was another half an hour before the last Mage in the line signed on, and with an empty hall the Grey Wardens and their allies counted the names. It was more than August could have ever hoped for. Altogether sixty seven Mages had signed up to fight for the army, as far as numbers went it didn't seem like much but when you took into account what Mages were capable off August considered it the equivalent of a battalion.

Now they could move onto other issues, like getting enough Mages to help exorcise Connor's demon and hopefully find out what happened to Gwyneth's friend as well. What was her name? Mera Surana? He looked around as he rose to his feet, finding Irving walking towards him and Gregoir speaking quietly with a couple of his Templar's.

"First Enchanter," he called, gaining the old man's attention.

"Yes, young Warden?"

"I have a few other issues which need to be addressed," Gregoir had finished speaking with his men and was walking towards them. He wasn't sure if the Knight-Commander would be very agreeable with his plan. "There is a problem in Redcliffe which requires the assistance of the Mages."

Irving saw how serious August was and nodded, "Speak."

"First of all we found a self-admitted blood mage called Jowan in Redcliffe's dungeons. I understand he is wanted in connection with injuring several of your men." Irving nodded, eyes pained while Gregoir's own eyes became stormy. It was his men under his watch. "He was granted sanctuary in Redcliffe by the Arlessa in exchange for tutoring her Mage son Connor but he had been sent there by an as yet unconfirmed person to poison the Arl. He succeeded and as a result Connor made a deal with a demon to keep his father alive. The results was complete chaos in Redcliffe."

"Terrible." Irving agreed, frowning.

August nodded in agreement, "From what Jowan has told me there are two ways to save Connor instead of killing him. Either he uses the blood magic to allow a handful of fighters to enter the Fade or several Mages and a huge amount of Lyrium. "

"It would be safer to end the boy," Gregoir said, grave. "Even if the boy could be saved he would be a magnet for demons in the Fade the rest of his life."

"He is the only child of the ruling family of Redcliffe, a family whose support will be essential in defending the country." August replied, casting a look at the Knight-Commander. He knew the Templar would advise that. It was exactly what he had thought was necessary until Jowan told him otherwise. "I would rather the boy lived and placed under the care of those who can help him than kill him for a silly mistake."

"We can aide you in this, Ser Warden." Irving nodded, ignoring Gregoir's glare. "I can assemble a handful of skilled Mages, and will lead them to Redcliffe personally."

"That is more than I could have hoped for," August bowed his head. "Thank you for your understanding on the matter gentlemen, and your discretion."

"Once the issue is settled we will have a demand of our own," The Knight-Commander didn't look like he could be convinced to agree with them otherwise. "The usual stance for us when it comes to demonic possession is to kill the host and end their suffering. In return I ask for the blood mage to be turned over to us."

August frowned, hesitating for a moment. It wasn't a difficult choice if he was honest. Jowan had turned to a forbidden magic, left a friend and lover to take his fall, poisoned an Arl and had been a general pain in his ass. It was between him and Connor, whom he had known since he was a toddler. The decision was obvious. "Very well. We will turn the blood mage over to you once the Arl's son is safe."

"Good. Now if you will excuse me I need to assemble men for Ostagar and an entourage for Redcliffe." Gregoir nodded, turning on his heel and marching from the hall.

August waited until the Knight-Commander was gone before turning back to the First Enchanter. Alistair and Varis were still with him and he had just noticed Gwyneth enter the room, free of the children she had escorted from the room near half an hour ago. She smiled sheepishly at their look. "I'm sorry. The children wouldn't let me leave."

"I had a feeling you were good with children," Varis smirked.

August shook his head, turning back to the First Enchanter. "Now that we are all here I have another request for you, if I may First Enchanter?"

"By all means."

"There is a Mage that I am interested in recruiting for the Grey Wardens. I understand she was a personal student of yours, a Mera Surana?"

The First Enchanter blinked at August for a moment before turning his gaze to Gwyneth, a soft but pained smile finding its way to his withered features. "I had a feeling you'd be back for more than a reunion with old friends, young Gwyn."

"Is she alright, please tell me she's alright." Gwyneth asked, her smile morphing into one of frightened uncertainty. "Jowan told me what happened."

Irving nodded, turning to the group as a whole. "Please, follow me."

* * *

 _Sorry it took me so long to get an update going guys, life has been getting in the way. I haven't got the chance to completely spell check it so let me know if there's anything glaring._

 _For anyone whose wondering why the Circle Tower isn't a demon infested, body strewn wasteland the reason is because the one driving force behind this was Senior Enchanter Uldred. With the Battle of Ostagar won Uldred remains on the frontlines and nowhere near the tower to cause trouble. So without him recruiting the tower just got a whole lot easier._

 _So what happened during this chapter? They make it to the tower, use the treaty to recruit the Mages, sign on many volunteers, convince Irving to come to Redcliffe to help save Connor and a promise to turn over Jowan to the Templar's. In the next chapter we'll find out what has happened to the Elf Mage Origin._

 _Don't forget to leave a review if you like, or even if you have a question._


	13. The First Alliance

_**Chapter 12**_

 _ **The First Alliance**_

Darkness prevailed the second they found themselves within the catacombs, an underground maze situated below the tower and all that was left of the original Avvar construction. These underground halls of stone were filled with storerooms carrying artefacts and tomes both awe inspiring and terrifying, most a holdover from the era when these lands were ruled by the Tevinter Magisters of the far north.

Rumours within the Landsmeet and beyond was that things were kept here which would bring horror to anyone who even heard their name, not mattering if the person in question even had prior knowledge of what the artefact was and what it was used for. August had found the very idea ridiculous when his father told him such stories, his own mirth evidence of his father's own opinion on the matter.

August could safely say he wasn't so sure if the horror stories were without a speck of truth. There was something here. He was sure of it. Some malevolent presence which seemed to chill the air as well as his bones. He had been following the First Enchanter through these maze-like corridors for just a few moments and yet he could feel a sense of wrongness.

His feeling of foreboding was not lessened by the words which left the First Enchanter's lips, serious and without doubt. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Ancient torches came alight, lining down the walls of the corridor and beyond, casting dim light and writhing shadows. "Down here are relics of magic from the Tevinter Imperium and beyond. Even now we are unsure of what is down here so follow this path and do not leave my side, no matter what temptation."

He nodded, suppressing the urge to gulp as he followed the old man down the recently lit corridors. August knew after a few steps he needed to engage in conversation, to get his mind off of this numbing feeling which spread throughout his being. "Tell me First Enchanter, why bring the prisoner down here? It doesn't seem very safe."

"You feel it as well then?" Irving asked, stopping misstep to regard him. "This chill in the air?"

"I do." August replied, once again managing to suppress the urge to shiver. It wasn't his imagination. It was far too cold down here, even by the standards of being underground. When he breathed he saw the fog of his breath, and if he concentrated enough on the walls he could see frozen droplets of water. Even then in the silence he could have sworn he heard voices in the dark, screams and laughter and even a tantalising whisper asking him to set it free. "But it's not just the chill."

Irving nodded in agreement. "I am surprised one not attuned to magic can feel the dangers down here. The reason why I asked for you and you alone was because your Templar companion and young Amell could be susceptible to some of the artefacts down here."

"Yes, I'm starting to see why." Cousland agreed. If he could hear and feel this then how must it feel to Mages and even those around them, how must it feel to Gwyneth and Alistair. A dark thought struck him then. "I take it that the Mage in question is down here, yes?"

Irving nodded, "Yes."

"Why place her down here," August asked, frowning. "Surely there are other places within the tower which can be used."

"She is considered a risk, some say she was an apprentice of Jowan's," The First Enchanter replied, turning and continuing his march. August hesitated a split second before following in the old man's footsteps. "I fought tooth and nail for her but the rumours and accusations were too much for Gregoir to ignore, so instead of culling or using the Rite of Tranquillity it was decided that she would be placed down here, far away from anyone being influenced by blood magic until we can ascertain her innocence."

August could understand that, he supposed. It didn't make denying Gwyneth the right to see her friend any easier, how desperate she had been when told she had been imprisoned, all alone, with no one to speak to but the assigned Templar who brought her meals three times a day. Such was the stigma, the inherent fear of Blood Magic. Some said that those who utilised it could control the very blood in your veins, use their victims like a puppet and make them do things they were adamant they didn't want to do. It was what made the Tevinter Magister's all the more terrifying for they perfected and utilised this form of magic without constraint.

They finally came to a set of heavy, ancient oaken doors and once they came to a stop Irving turned to August, his face grave. "Beyond these doors is an ancient dungeon, not used since the era of the Imperium until now."

"How long has she been down here?" August asked.

"Two weeks." The old Mage replied.

"She's been down here in that old dungeon, for two weeks alone?" He asked gravely.

"Yes," Irving replied, the very thought seemed to pain him by how his eyes shut tightly. "And no one has been allowed to visit her, even me."

Even if you could forget all of the ancient things down here which made the air cold and heavy, even if you could ignore the feeling of fear and foreboding which was rife August thought of the idea of being imprisoned in a dark cell for two weeks alone and without light, without company besides a terrified Templar recruit who rushed in here to deliver a meal and take away an empty plate, leaving no time for conversation. The thought made his blood freeze in his veins.

He found his resolve then, "Open the door, if you will."

"Off course." Irving nodded his head, turning to the door and raised his hands

The hinges screamed as they turned and the heavy timber doors opened, revealing exactly what August had feared. Beyond the doors was nothing but darkness. The lamps on the walls were unlit and the footsteps through the centuries of dust on the cobblestone floor were a precious few.

Yet there was a light, dim and flickering. August and Irving looked at each other, confused before following the footsteps down the dust ridden path. Voices could be heard next, soft yet audible now that they were within the dungeon. They heard a man's voice, followed by a woman's.

Irving quickened his step, not saying a word, and August followed him silently. They passed by empty cells on both sides, all with rusted iron bars and covered in dust before turning a corner and coming upon the source of the light. It was a young man in Templar armour, sitting in front of a cell, a lit candle on the mantle which held up the bars, inside was a small hunched figure which retreated with a squeak upon their arrival.

Irving studied the young man for a long moment, frowning, before realisation dawned on his withered old features. "Cullen?"

Even through the flickering shadows August could make out a young face with well kept auburn hair and well trimmed beard. The young man looked roughly around his age, maybe a few years younger. His armour clearly confirmed him as a Templar. His large Greatsword, sheathed to his back made him out as a powerful fighter. The way he stood between them and the cell, almost as if out of instinct, also spoke volumes for him. "First Enchanter."

The figure within the cell backed away, almost fearfully, vanishing into the shadows even as Irving and August approached. The Warden decided to remain silent, to allow the First Enchanter to deal with this sudden predicament. "Now what are you doing down here my boy?"

"I decided to check in on Enchanter Surana, to make sure she didn't lose herself down here." The boy replied. He hesitated, just for a moment. "She is not a Blood Mage. That I am certain, First Enchanter."

A Templar who showed respect for his charges. August liked him already. "It appears we have just been given an expert opinion on the subject, wouldn't you agree First Enchanter?"

The old man turned to him, and after a very brief moment a light of understanding appeared in his ancient eyes. "Indeed, I do agree Ser Warden."

"What is going on?" Cullen asked, frowning as he continued to stand between the two of them and the cage.

"No need for that my boy." Irving stated, turning his head to August. "This is August Cousland, of the Grey Wardens."

"Grey Wardens?" Cullen asked, recognition and awe dawning on his features. It made August a little uncomfortable, considering he didn't have the usual armour or weapons of his order. He must look like a common mercenary instead of a warrior of old.

"Indeed," Irving stepped forward, fishing a ring of keys from the folds of his robes and began sorting through them for the right one. "Young August here is of the Grey Wardens. The Darkspawn threat in the south appears to be a Blight after all with an Archdemon and he's here to recruit more Wardens."

"So you're going to conscript Surana into the Grey Wardens?" Cullen looked horrified at the very idea, August couldn't blame him. It was just a hypothesis from looking at the huddled form of the girl in the cell but from the dim light she looked much too slim to be a warrior. She shied away the very moment they made themselves known.

August took the keys from the First Enchanter, accepted his nod when his hands fell upon the right key in the ring and opened the cell door with a screech of hinges. The girl scrambled away, all the way to the corner where she curled up in a ball and seemed to await her fate. He ignored both the First Enchanter and Cullen, walked forward slowly, surely and knelt down beside her.

"You are Mera Surana, yes?" August asked, soft and as non-threatening as possible.

He saw piercing, almost glowing emerald eyes and alabaster skin covered in dust under her hood. "Y-yes."

He bowed his head, "I am pleased to meet you, Lady Surana. I am August Cousland, senior Grey Warden of Ferelden."

"G-Grey Warden?" She asked, voice a little cracked from lack of use. "W-why did y-you come here?"

He smiled, disarming. "A friend of yours sent me, said you were the best in the circle. I believe you know a Miss Gwyneth Amell?"

"Gwyn?" the Elf asked, hopeful.

"Yes, Gwyn." August replied with a nod. "She came with me to this tower, looking for you."

"M-me?"

He nodded, "She said you were the best Healer in the Circle, and if we were to defeat the Blight we needed you. So what say you Lady Mera Surana? Would you like to join the Grey Wardens and save Ferelden?"

She hesitated for a long moment, brilliant emerald eyes switching from hope to suspicion and back again. Mera looked right into August's eyes, studied him and then nodded. "Yes, I will go with you."

August smiled, taking her by the hand and helping her to her feet. "Very good."

She was small, top of her head barely reaching up to his chest. Her hand looked tiny within his as he hauled her to her feet and guided her from the cell. The girl seemed to hesitate once they reached the threshold, took a deep breath and followed him out. Irving met her smiling as he took a handkerchief from his robes and began wiping her face, much to her grimace. Cullen remained at the side, posture stiff and awkward.

"What about the Knight-Commander?" She asked, pushing down her hood to reveal short black hair, two strands breaking free to frame the sides of her face.

"You let us worry about the Knight-Commander, my child." Irving replied.

That was going to be an interesting conversation.

* * *

It turned out convincing the Knight-Commander was a more difficult endeavour than the First Enchanter expected. August stood by the old man's side, a silent witness to the exchanges between the two most powerful men in the Circle tower. Gregoir's growling arguments were met with Irving's calm and collected retorts.

"Gregoir, calm yourself." Irving said soothingly. "Warden Cousland asked me for a recruit, said he needed a healer, and off all the Enchanters in the circle young Surana is the best seen in a generation. He asked for the best, and I simply obliged."

"I am not rejecting the rite of the Grey Wardens to choose recruits," The Knight-Commander snarled, slamming his hands onto the surface of his desk. "And I understand your need to protect her Irving, but to allow her to escape punishment by running off to the Wardens... what precedent will that set for the rest of the Mages!?"

"Everything we have heard, from both her and the Lay-Sisters testimony points out that she had no knowledge of Jowan's experiments in blood magic." The First Enchanter replied, tall and strong in his argument. "He came to her, spun a story that he would be made tranquil because he was considered too weak to pass his Harrowing and she believed him."

"Those exact same arguments were why I did not have her executed on the spot, Irving." Gregoir replied, frowning. "She is still guilty of a string of other offences, even if we forgave her for aiding a blood mage in escape. She still broke into the vaults in the lower levels of the tower, which Mages of her rank are expressly forbidden from entering, came into contact with several volatile artefacts and aided in the destruction of the phylactery which would allow us to hunt him down!"

"If I may interject First Enchanter, Knight-Commander?" August asked, both men took a moment to calm themselves before nodding.

"By all means, Ser Warden."

"Thank you," August replied, eyeing the Mage the argument was over. Surana still looked weak, even after a hot meal. Gwyneth towered over her, an arm around the shorter girls slim shoulder, trembling and squinting as she tried to get used to light again after two weeks in darkness. "I have no doubt that on some level she does deserve a level of guilt for what happened. A blood mage escaped the circle and has caused tremendous havoc to the outside world. However these arguments pale to the bigger picture and this is, gentlemen, that there is a Blight on Ferelden's doorstep and we need every capable person on the frontlines. I hear that the young Elf here is a fine Mage, a gifted Healer and I sorely need that in my company."

"There are other healers, Ser Warden." Gregoir had deflated somewhat with a third opinion into the argument. "Enchanter Petra or Colum are highly skilled and accomplished healers in their own right."

He remembered Petra, that blonde haired woman who thought him convincing children volunteering for war was a bad idea so funny she didn't head them off. "Be that as it may I still want the best, and according to my Warden Recruit the best is Lady Surana. I will take responsibility for her now that she is in my care, and she will redeem herself for her mistake by helping bring to an end perhaps the greatest calamity of our time."

"You see Gregoir," Irving raised his brow, a smile forming which seemed to irk the Knight-Commander. "This is not her escaping her punishment, just think of it as a different approach."

A low growl resounded in the Knight-Commander's throat, then a sigh. "Very well. Who am I to argue with a Grey Warden when a Blight is upon us."

"Thank you," Cousland nodded his head in thanks before moving onto another topic. "Now back to our plans for Redcliffe. How long will it take for the Mages to be made ready?"

"I can have the necessary number ready to travel by tomorrow morning." Irving replied.

"And I can have the necessary Templar's be made available for an escort." Gregoir added. "I have your word that Jowan will be handed over to us once this business has been concluded?"

"You do." August affirmed. "As for the mustering of your forces to march."

"The Mages are all assembled here and they can march within a week, once we manage to pack and procure transportation. As for the Templar's, well they are scattered across Ferelden. It may take weeks or even months depending on the chaos on the roads for them all to make it to Ostagar, so we will be arriving piecemeal." The Knight-Commander admitted.

"Very good, I will leave the preparations to yourselves and will write an introductory letter to the Teyrn on your behalf for your arrive." August said, thinking that it was about time that he update the old man on what he had been doing on the road. Some things he would leave out, but most he would keep. "I thank you for your time, gentlemen. My company and I will be leaving early tomorrow morning once you have the needed people assembled."

Both Gregoir and Irving nodded in agreement, returning to their preparations as August turned on his heel and led both Gwyneth and Mera out of the room. The young Elf still shaky on her feet. "Rooms have been prepared for us and I feel you will feel better with a good night's sleep, but before that I should introduce you to our company, well, those who are here at least."

"Yes, I believe I shall." She replied, still leaning on Gwyneth somewhat as she looked up at him. "Thank you, Grey Warden."

"Please, August is fine." He waved her off, smiling what he hoped was a comforting smile. "I won't stand on ceremony, especially with those who are brave enough to follow me."

The little elf offered a hesitant smile in return, "Very well, Ser August."

Close enough, he supposed. "Come along. Alistair and Varis should be waiting for us in the cafeteria. I'll let you two lead."

Gwyneth nodded before ushering her friend down the corridor. Mera seemed to perk up upon hearing one of the names, even muttering the name Varis as she was led but it wasn't until they entered the cafeteria and saw both of their fellows did they see what the name meant, to the both of them.

Varis and Alistair were waiting in one of the corner tables, dutifully ignoring the awed and excited whisperings of several small huddles of Mages, all very interested in the Grey Warden guests but too nervous or afraid to approach them. Varis was the first to see them, eyes checking over each of them before settling on Surana, and then something clicked. His eyes widened as he slowly got to his feet even as she watched him with equal parts hope and dread.

"Varis," she asked, hesitant and afraid. "Varis Tabris?"

His own doubt was soon replaced by a grin, "Mera Surana. You're family's from the Denerim Alienage isn't it?"

"Yes," she breathed, looking him up and down before managing a weak pout. "You've gotten taller."

His grin did the impossible as it widened further, "And you have barely grown at all, little cousin."

Her pout broke down into a watery smile, and when she spoke again her voice was barely a croak of barely held back tears, "Var?"

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace, one which she returned with as tight a grip as she possibly could in her weakened state. She cried into his chest, mumbling his name over and over again. August guessed she felt she was dreaming and was terrified that at any moment she would wake up back in that empty, black cell. No Grey Wardens, no long lost cousin and no way out.

Gwyneth ordered food for all of them as the two embraced and they waited as Varis gently guided his cousin to one of the chairs and sat her down before taking the seat beside her. The two of them conversed in quiet tones until the food arrived and everyone held their questions as she inhaled what she was given.

"So, you two are cousins?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," Varis replied, ignoring Mera as she partially hid behind him. "She lived in the Alienage until she was eight years old. The Templar's came for her because she was being bullied and threw one of the kids through a window, with a blast of raw magic. By the time I knew about it she was already gone."

She placed a hand on his, smiling sadly when he looked up at her. "Don't blame yourself Var. I didn't want to leave but I made good friends here, friends I would regret not knowing."

"Like?"

"Gwyn for one." She replied.

"The Lady Mage?" he asked, smirking at her half hearted glare.

"Stop calling me that!"

"Don't take it too badly Gwyn. He's harmless." She placated. "He's a bit of a smartass but he's harmless."

"A smartass am I?" He asked, grinning.

More food and drink was delivered to the beleaguered group, and while the others ate their fill August took Alistair to the side. The former Templar recruit offered a boyish smile, "So, she's a new recruit?"

"Her name is Mera Surana, and yes she is a new recruit." August replied.

"Seems a little small for a Warden." Alistair quipped, raising his hands in surrender at his fellow Wardens look. "Hey I'm not saying no. We can use all the help we can get. But she doesn't look like she'll be much use in a fight."

"She's not being recruited to fight," August replied, shrugging at his incredulous look. "She's supposed to be the best Healer in the Circle, and like you've said we have too many Battle-Mages and not enough Healers."

"I did say that didn't I." Alistair allowed, a sheepish smile on his face.

"You did." August confirmed. "She knows enough Force Magic to be able to defend herself, or so I've been told. We'll have Morrigan and Gwyneth tutor her in how to defend herself better if that's what she needs."

"Got it," his fellow Warden agreed with a nod. "So what's going to happen here?"

"We'll be returning to Redcliffe tomorrow with a small group of Mages, Templar's and the Lyrium we need to deal with our Demon problem." August explained as he looked over his small group, all eating, laughing and catching up with each other. "The Mages will be ready to march south by the end of the week, and the Templar's will be moving piecemeal."

"Sounds good." Alistair allowed. "If the other treaties can be used this well we may have little to worry about besides Redcliffe."

"I hope so," Cousland replied. "I really do."

* * *

"Well?" August asked, taking his eyes off the small book he was reading and casting a glance at the flickering candle, his one only source of light here. Their hosts had been fairly respectful and generous with their lodgings, providing them three rooms. Gwyneth and their new recruit took one, Varis and Alistair the other and August as the supposed leader of the party was granted a nicely furnished room for himself.

"I found a few books on the Blight, but very little that we didn't already know." Varis replied, voice a quiet whisper. He had silently entered the room, almost scarily quiet. August wasn't sure he would have picked up on his presence if he had been asleep. "Mostly history books, with very little of the practices of the Grey Wardens."

"I figured as much." August sighed. Not surprised but still disappointed. He supposed that if the Grey Wardens were so loose lipped about their secrets that there would be books about it in a Mage Circle then they wouldn't be so secret. Still it didn't hurt to check. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Though it doesn't have anything to do with what you're looking for." The thief reached into a large pouch and pulled out a fairly large tome, bound in black leather. He presented this to August who took it with a frown. "I was sneaking around the First Enchanters office and came across this. I think it may come in handy."

"What's so important about this?"

"It's written by Flemith."

That got his attention. "The Witch of the Wilds?"

"The very one." Varis replied, falling into a chair across from him. "I don't like the idea of having a supposed ally that we don't have much information about so when I saw this I thought you'd like to have it."

True, August would be one of the first to admit that this book could hold valuable information about the Witch of the Wilds and her secretive daughter. "I never thought I would thank someone for thievery."

"It is not thievery." Varis scoffed dismissively. "It is simply borrowing without permission."

"That is the very definition of stealing, Varis."

"Is it?" He asked in mock surprise. "I never knew."

A chuckle escaped August. "Thank you my friend. This will certainly come in handy."

"You're welcome." The Elf replied, jumping to his feet. "I enjoy some exercise before bed."

"Get some sleep. You'll need it." August shook his head as the thief made his silent exit.

* * *

Storm clouds gathered on the western horizon, black and roiling, with subtle flashes of lightning and the occasional clap of thunder which could be heard even from here. August eyed the approaching maelstrom, suppressing a groan and guessed it was half a day away at best, which meant going to whole way to Redcliffe on their little Cog was not a good idea.

His thoughts appeared to be mirrored by the Captain, who took one look at the approaching storm and told him in a blunt manner that he would take them to shore to walk on foot but he would not chance his boat all the way to their destination. The old man seemed greatly relieved when August understood and advised him not to worry.

His group were all with him, even Surana who looked a lot better with a few meals and a good night's sleep. Both Gwyneth and Varis hovered over her, the former casting the odd little healing spell when she sure the little Elf wasn't looking and the latter never too far away and casting a glare when a Templar drew a little too close for his personal comfort.

Of the group of Mages he recognised Petra, who gave him a cheeky smile as she passed and Irving himself, who felt that he should be there personally to see this demonic possession defeated. The old man had been adamant about that. There was also a Senior Enchanter, a youngish Elf woman named Leorah which Irving praised very highly.

Cullen was the only one he recognised of the group of Templars, mainly because he was the only one who didn't wear a helmet. The rest of them looked very intimidating and professional in their plate armour, complete with bucket shaped helms.

It took two attempts to get everyone across the channel between the Circle tower and the small settlement at the other end of the destroyed bridge. There was a tavern and several timber houses, their chimneys billowing smoke as they disembarked on a small pier. No one was surprised to see a large group of Mages and Templar's appear in their village square, and as the storm came in too close for August to comfortably start their journey he decided they should all find shelter in the tavern, which thankfully had just enough rooms for them all.

They all spent the night in the tavern, his Warden recruits, the Mages and Templar's filling out the small tavern and ordering both food and drink. Soon enough alcohol was consumed to loosen the Mages nervousness and the Templar's professionalism. Hoods were pulled back, helms were taken off and placed on tabletops. August was surprised to see that most of the Templar's were young men and women, who spoke to their charges with easy smiles and camaraderie which was returned in equal measure.

It was a shame this was not the same everywhere, but seeing these two groups interact like this made August just a little prouder to be Ferelden. He had seen how the Mages were treated in other places like the Free Marcher cities of Kirkwall and Starkhaven and seeing them like this, laughing and joking together, was a little comforting. It wasn't perfect though, he only had to look at his two Mage recruits to see that loud and clear.

Food was eaten, drink was consumed and people headed off to their rooms one after another. August was one of the last to leave with his group in toe, noticing the grin on the innkeepers face as he counted the amount of coins earned on the night. The storm remained for much of the night, battering the shutters and causing the timber structure to creak, but by the morn it had passed and the column of Wardens, Mages and Templar's began marching at a sedate pace once the sun was a quarter of the way into its cycle.

They made good time. The Wardens in the lead while the Mages and Templar's followed, the former casting basic rejuvenation spells on both themselves and their charges when it looked like they were tiring or slowing down. By the end of the first day they were halfway to Redcliffe. They had found a safe and secure piece of ground to camp and with nearly fifty men and women in their company the Wardens could sleep in for once and avoid night watch duty.

They reached Redcliffe by the second day, and their arrival did not go unnoticed by the surviving denizens of the village. Men and women left their homes to watch the column of Mages and Templar's in awe and wonder, most never seeing a Mage before in their lives. Cheers rang out amongst the people when they saw the familiar faces of the Grey Wardens in the lead. Yet they did not crowd nor hinder them, for all knew that the sooner these souls reached the Castle the sooner the nightmare would end.

The rest of his company, accompanied by the Arlessa and a few of her guards, were awaiting them at the entrance of the castle and Isolde wasted no time with diplomatic pleasantries or speeches, but begged the First Enchanter directly to save her child. Something which the old man agreed immediately.

"T'would seem your mission was a success, hmm?" Morrigan asked as the company was once again unified, exchanging greetings. His gaze swept across her, Leliana and Sten and was glad to see that they all seemed fine, no injuries or tenseness to speak off.

"It was." August replied before turning to the newest member of the group. "Everyone, I would like to introduce the newest member of the company. Her name is Mera Surana, Mage and Healer. Make sure she feels welcome."

The Elf-maiden offered them a nervous smile and a wave, half hidden behind both Gwyneth and Varis. Morrigan scoffed, muttering something about _another_ charity case for them to look after, Leliana preened in delight. Sten just stood as firm as a rock, watching and assessing the scared little Elf intently.

"Sten," August said, tired but with a little warning in his tone. "Stop scaring the new recruit, and Morrigan don't be a bully."

"A bully!" Morrigan repeated, indignant, mouth opening and closing before she levelled the most murderous glare at August possible. He at one point considered she could make him spontaneously combust.

"You're going to need to apologise to her." Alistair muttered.

"You, defending her?" August asked.

"I never said I liked it."

* * *

Loghain sighed as he left the tent, pushing aside the flap and wincing at the midday light. He stalked to the well trodden path, his two guards trailing behind him as he walked and Ser Cauthrien flanking his right side, face taught and expression serious.

The new Teyrn Cousland looked better. He was gaining back his strength daily with thanks to his physicians and one very stubborn old Mage. But the news of his home had taken its toll. The young man's face was pale, his eyes sunken and red rimmed from mourning the loss of his parents as well as his wife and son. The news of their deaths hit him hard, and even though he had managed to keep his facade of noble control in place there was no doubt that his control was hanging by a thread.

Only the knowledge that his brother was alive kept him together and August hadn't been heard from since he headed north to enforce those Grey Warden treaties.

"My Lord." He stirred from his thoughts at his lieutenants voice and was only now aware that they had left the Highever section but were now re-entering the command portion of the camp.

"What?"

"You did not tell the Teyrn, of the accusations laid against his family." She asked.

That he didn't. Their conversation had been mostly on his health and his ability to command the Highever troops once he had fully recovered. There was condolences exchanged, Loghain on the loss of his family and Fergus on the death of the King, but the incriminating evidence sent to him by Arl Howe had not surfaced. It was unlike him to not get to the centre of the matter. Perhaps his time amongst the Nobility of Ferelden had finally instilled a bit of, what had his daughter called it? Tact?

"I do not wish to be responsible for hindering the Teyrn's recovery." He replied, entering his tent with Cauthrien in tow.

"You have read through it?" She asked.

"I have."

"And?"

"It is either true or a well made forgery." Loghain replied absently, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his desk and hands clasped together as he found himself once again deep in thought. How he hated politics. It was a game he had been forced to become acquainted too, but the machinations of the court and the double dealing of the Banns was not something he enjoyed. Give him a physical foe to fight, a direct confrontation, an army to defeat. Loghain was a practical man. Words meant little and actions much.

"If that is true then we must take action."

He smirked at her direct approach. Cauthrien was a lot like him in many ways, like him she loathed politics and backdoor deals, preferring to meet her enemies with a sword in hand. However she had never been thrust into the royal court nor had she needed to participate in a Landsmeet.

"Patience Cauthrien, and think for a moment." He chastised, rising slowly from his chair, clasping his hands behind his back. "There are several actions Howe has taken which have made me suspect his evidence."

"Such as?" She asked. Cauthrien was one of very few people who had the courage to contradict him, to question his orders if she didn't agree with them. That number of people was very small, and the people he allowed even smaller. His lieutenant, whom he had basically raised from a young lass, was one who fitted both categories.

"For example why did he kill Bryce Cousland when arresting him would have been far more prudent and less messy. As an Arl such an ability is within his rights. He could have arrested the Teyrn and presented his case before the Landsmeet." That was the question which had been bothering him. Howe was the opposite of him. A man who loved the intrigue of politics, of the debate and the backroom deals and the knife in the dark. Yes, Arl Howe was a born schemer and politician. "Then there was his actions at Highever. He didn't just kill Bryce Cousland he _butchered_ his entire family, including guards, servants and children. That was not the actions of a man looking for justice to be upheld."

"I suppose." She allowed, looking away and frowning. "But... and begging your pardon My Lord, the evidence seems compelling."

"Indeed, perhaps too compelling." Loghain glared at the thick folder. "Get me into contact with my spies. I want someone with knowledge of forgeries down here to investigate these documents. I want to know if it is possible they were forged, who is capable of such forgeries and if there are who has been in contact with Rendon Howe."

Like every single Bann and Arl in Ferelden Loghain had his own spies. One could not survive long in the convoluted politics of Ferelden without them and the Teyrn had confidence in his daughters recruitment of them. Anora was savvy enough to be able to turn an Orlesian bard sent to assassinate her into a double-agent for her. He hated and struggled with politics but she not only enjoyed it but thrived in it.

"Yes, My Lord." Cauthrien nodded.

"Make sure this goes through our most trusted people. I don't want rumours spreading around the camp." He ordered. If rumours got around that the Cousland's were in league with the Orlessians it was yet another thing which could tear this army apart. The men and women of Highever would defend their Teyrn, from swords as well as accusations. That was the respect the Couslands commanded in their own domain.

That was the last thing Loghain wanted, or needed. His attempt to keep the army together by placing blame at the feet of the Grey Wardens, and by extension the Cousland's youngest son, did not do him any favours with the troops from Highever, and making an accusation of this magnitude against the Couslands would sow the seeds of animosity further still. Keeping the army together after that would be impossible.

Did Howe know this? Was that why he had placed all of this evidence on his desk? Was this why he sent this to Loghain and not to his daughter, the Queen? These questions just made him even more suspicious of the Arl's motives. So he would wait. He would scheme and plan. He would play the waiting game. He would play the politics and investigations he loathed so much.

* * *

 _Special thanks to Impstar, Leaf Ranger, RIF, Judy, BusyMonkey and Guest for your reviews. Sorry to you and all the silent supporters for this taking so long to update. I'll try and get back into some kind of frequent update schedule going as soon as I can. I should get a schedule too you by the next update._

 _So what happened this chapter? We have recruited the Mage Origin, finalised the recruitment of the Mages and Templar's to the cause, got a group of Mages to Redcliffe to help with Connor. On the Ostagar front Loghain has decided to look at Howe's supposed evidence in greater detail before making a decision._

 _Don't forget to review, and if you're interested in this story then leave a favourite or follow. Those three things are blood and iron to us writers._


	14. Uninvited Guests

_**Chapter 13**_

 _ **Uninvited Guests**_

They had been treated like royalty, or close enough, since returning from the tower. August considered the wording of his companions as he spooned another mouthful of porridge into his mouth, once again understanding the voracious appetite of the Grey Wardens.

It had been Varis who had said that, on the second day of their return. Comfortable beds, three meals a day at the castle, continuously thanked by the locals, offered free drinks and meals at the local tavern. He supposed this would constitute as royalty to an Alienage raised pickpocket, and he didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.

For two days the Mages had locked themselves in the private apartments, performing their cleansing ritual on Connor under the supervision of a handful of Templars. Apparently it required a few skilled Mages to enter the Fade, kill the demon and by doing so releasing Connor. Morrigan, Gwyneth and Mera had volunteered to do the deed, and he guessed the former volunteered so she could steer clear of the Templar's and their mutterings about a Maleficar in their midst.

The rest of them had little else to do but wait. They cleaned their weapons and serviced their armour, checked the village and patrolled the surrounding countryside for Darkspawn. They trained both together and with the newly recruited crop of Redcliffe guards. Sten seemed to have found a new hobby in that regard, ruthlessly drilling and training the young men and women until they collapsed from exhaustion or he was satisfied. August didn't mind. It gave the big guy something to do.

August finally conceded that he would need to write some correspondence to the Teyrn in the south, to inform him of his progress. He spent most of the first day doing just that, deciding to leave out the parts about Jowan and his accusations against the man. Instead he focused on the battles of Lothering and Redcliffe, as well as the successful negotiations with both the Mages and the Templars.

As for Jowan, well he was still lounging around in the Redcliffe dungeon. The demonic infestation took precedence to both the Mages and the Templars. The general consensus was that the Blood Magician wasn't going anywhere so he could wait on his arrest, trial and ultimate fate.

Once the letter was completed and checked over he went straight to the stables and convinced one of the scouts to take his letter to Ostagar for a small amount of coin. The Arlessa may not like it, but to be honest he didn't care what she liked at this point. His letter was as damning of her as it was of the Demons.

"Hey, August!"

He turned and smiled as Alistair approached, offering a wave in return before looking at the saddle perched on his muscular shoulder. "Alistair, busy I see."

His fellow Grey Warden shrugged. "I _was_ raised in these stables you know. So I've been visiting old haunts and taking care of the horses. Do you want to help, it's actually quite relaxing."

"Maybe later." August waved off. "I need to check up on what's happening with Connor, then track down Leliana and Varis before they get up to any more mischief."

"Who's getting up to mischief?" Both men turned to see Leliana approach, an impish smile in place. "I hope you don't mean me, no?"

"Not at all." August replied, chuckling. "It was more Varis than you."

Alistair laughed, patting August on the back. "Looks like you're busted, but don't worry our little Chantry sister has been doing something worthy of her time."

He only just then noticed the bow in her hands and the quiver of arrows on her back. "Teaching the new guards how to shoot?"

"Mm." She nodded, raising her bow for them to see. "Yes, but it's more for myself. I feel I am getting, how do you say? Rough around the edges?"

August had seen her use a bow, both during Lothering and when the undead assailed the village, and he thought she didn't need any practise at all. The Chantry sister rarely missed her targets, and when she hit it was usually for the kill. He would be very worried if her ire was ever levelled against him.

"If you are looking for Varis he left a few hours ago." Leliana continued. "He went to have a look around the village, probably to see if he can get a few more free drinks at the tavern."

"I'm pretty sure that's exactly where he is." Alistair chuckled. "I think I'll go down there myself."

"I may join you." the redhead asked, looking at August with a cheery smile. "And I believe our fearless leader would appreciate a little Ale and company as well, no?"

That didn't sound like a bad idea, actually. He had been so busy dealing with letters and training soldiers that he realised he hadn't had a moment to himself since leaving Ostagar, a little Ale and pleasant company would not go amiss. "I think that is a good idea. I will need to check on the ritual first."

"How wonderful." The woman exclaimed, eyes closed in a brilliant smile. Both men would admit it was a brilliant smile. "Maybe you two can coax me to sing, yes?"

"We need to coax you to sing?" Alistair asked in jest.

August smiled, about to laugh but stopped himself when he saw a figure on the rooftop of the stable. He couldn't make out the features from the glare of the midday sun, but what was held in his hands was easy enough to guess at. It was aimed for Leliana.

He dived forward, crashing into the sister just as the archer loosed his arrow, both fell to the ground in a tangle of limps, Lelianna's cry of indignation silenced when the arrow imbedded itself in the ground right where she would have stood. A second arrow was loosed by a second figure, but Alistair was there, the saddle taking the arrow with a dull thud.

"Thank you, _Merci_." Leliana managed.

He caught her slip of Orlessian easily enough, but choose to ignore it and nodded instead. They were now surrounded by a half dozen individuals, all armed with swords and knives. Some were dressed in guard armour, others as servants and a few more as stable hands.

"Grey Wardens," one of the men, the leader he guessed, spoke. "This is none of your concern. Our target is the woman! Let us kill her and we will leave you in peace!"

"She's a member of my company!" August growled at him, getting off of Leliana and rising to a knee, his sword already drawn and held right at the speaker even as the sister wearily rose. Alistair had drawn his sword as well as the shield by this point, and was eyeing the assembled men with a steady gaze.

The leader chuckled. "I'm guessing you know her as a meek little Chantry sister. What if I told you she is an Orlessian bard instead, sent to assassinate you on the orders of the Empress."

"That is not true!" Leliana shouted back. "I was a bard once but that is not who I am anymore!"

"I would tell you you're an idiot!" August replied, getting a shocked look from the woman. "I had suspicions she was a former Bard, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't sent to kill me!"

The look of relief which crossed her features at his words. It had crossed his mind a few times, he would admit, but if Leliana was a bard sent to kill him she had ample opportunity to do it and vanish into the night. Yet she didn't take the opportunity during the nights they camped or any battle to date.

He was less sure than he let on. August had been in Orlais a few times with his father and had gained a rudimentary understanding of the _Great Game_ of politics that the courts there played. Bards were one of the favoured agents of an Orlessian noble looking to take a disagreement to a whole new level, assassins and spies under the guise of musicians, artists and courtesans. But he would trust her word over a stranger with a sword drawn, conversations could wait.

"I had thought a Cousland would be smarter than this!" The leader admonished. "Surrender her or die!"

A single word left August's lips, "No."

Leliana was quick as lightning. She plucked an arrow from her quiver, drew her bow back and loosed. Her aim was straight and true, the shaft imbedding itself in the neck of one of the archers on the stables thatched roof who fell out of sight with a strangled scream.

the other archer fired another arrow, but Alistair once again proved his worth, using his shield to protect the Bard from the otherwise deadly blow. It deflected off of the ex-Templar's shield even as August rose to his full height and drew his family dagger with his free hand.

" _Merde_!" the leader cursed before raising his sword. "Kill them all!"

August responded by throwing his dagger, whose aim was true as it imbedded itself into the leaders throat. The man gagged, dropping his weapons and reaching up for the family blade before his strength left him and he fell to his knees. August was already moving even as Leliana loosed another arrow at the remaining archer.

He slammed the pommel of his sword into the first assassins chin with a satisfactory crunch before bringing the sword around to block a strike aimed for his head. August parried and went low, burying his blade to the guard into the second man's gut before using his foot to kick his limp form away. He spun, his sword cutting a long bloody line as the tip went through the first man's throat.

He bent down, grabbing the hilt of his dagger from the corpse, pulling it free before throwing it once again. It struck and dug halfway into the forehead of the stable hand aiming to stab Alistair in the back as he continued to protect their archer from another arrow.

Leliana had already loosed a third, imbedding it into the last archers chest. She then dropped the weapon, rose to her feet with speed and drew two wickedly curved knives which she then used to defend herself. Without the need to protect the Bard Alistair roared and smashed his shield into another assassins face, teeth flying before a stab of his sword finished the job.

August breathed out a sigh of relief, sheathing his sword when he was sure there was no other ill-intentioned characters around before reaching down to extract his dagger from the assassins skull. Alistair was a little winded, but there were no noticeable wounds on him while Leliana watched him with nervous eyes.

"Now then," August began, cleaning his dagger on the stable hands clothes before rising and walking over to her. "I think you owe us an explanation, no?"

Leliana bit her lip before her words came out in a jumble. "I was a bard yes, but I am not that person anymore. I left that life behind me when I came here and _owe_!"

To be fair it wasn't that hard of a hit, more of a tap really as he flipped the dagger in his hand and used the pommel to land a soft blow on her forehead. "Stop talking out here, we'll deal with this privately."

She reached up to rub her forehead, grimacing, and nodded. " _Oui_."

"Good." August nodded before turning around. "Come on Alistair, both of you!"

"Me!?" his fellow Warden asked, blinking. "Why me!"

"Because you're a Grey Warden." August replied, giving him a sideways glare. "Now shut up and act like it!"

"Alright, no need to shout!"

"I'm not shouting!"

"What in Andraste's name is going on here!?"

" _That's_ shouting!" August finished as he turned to see Isolde, accompanied by a half dozen of her guards, looking at the aftermath of the battle in horror.

"Assassins targeting my company," August explained, sheathing his dagger as he approached. Alistair took the hint and shepherded a slightly shell shocked Leliana across the courtyard and back into the castle. The Cousland suspected he wanted to speak with the woman as much as he would with an Ogre. "I would advise to take greater care with who you employ within these walls, Arlessa."

Isolde glared at him, even as the Captain of the Guard looked over the bodies of those wearing his people's armour with a frown. "I do not recognise any of these men."

"Search the castle Captain, and find out who these people are and how they got in here." August ordered. The guardsman looked to his Arlessa for confirmation, who sighed and nodded her head in agreement.

"Do your job, Guard Captain." She ordered.

"Yes, milady!"

It looked like the woman could see sense after all.

* * *

"How is she?"

Alistair shrugged as he closed the heavy oak door behind him. "Quiet as a field mouse, which isn't normal for her."

"No, it certainly isn't." August agreed, frowning.

"What's the plan?"

"Get Varis back here before he drowns in liquor." August supplied helpfully. "Send Sten to fetch him. I want to make sure there aren't any more assassins lurking about."

"Sure thing." Alistair allowed, but hesitated for a long moment. "What are you going to do with her?"

"Get some answers." August replied, leaning against the stone wall thoughtfully. "And I doubt she would want to expose her deepest, darkest secrets in the presence of half the company."

"A Chantry Sister has deep, dark secrets?" Alistair allowed a nervous smile.

"A Chantry Sister who just openly admitted to once being a Bard?"

"She didn't strike me as anything but a devout Chantry sister."

"And the undeniable skill with a bow and a blade?" August countered mildly. "Not exactly your usual skills associated with a woman of the cloth, eh?"

"Yes... well." Alistair was stuck, and he knew it. He sighed heavily. "Okay, you got me there."

"Go and relay those orders, check up on the rest of the company and make sure the security to this castle is tight." August ordered lightly, slapping his shoulder. "I'll check in with our devout sister and find out what's going on."

Alistair looked at him with a surly expression. "You already know what's going on. You just want to confirm it. Most of us already know that you're smarter than you let on, that you can see things most of us can't see."

"Then trust me on this one. Whatever secrets she's hiding Leliana won't divulge them with an audience watching." August sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I know your fond of her. Maker help me I'm fond of her too, but we can't just blindly walk into this, and I need answers. It'll gnaw at me until I get them."

Alistair tapped him mildly on his shoulder, breaking him out of his reverie with a boyish grin. "Hey, I trust you man. We all know that out of the two of us you're the leader of this band. I've trusted you throughout this and I trust you now. I may have been a Grey Warden the longest but you're the leader. I think we silently agreed on that a long time ago, yeah?"

August sighed, allowing a tired grin as he repeated Alistair's tap with one of his own. "Then let me get on with it, Stable-boy."

"No problem."

August groaned, but waved Alistair away as the elder Warden chuckled. The moment he turned the corner August turned, cracked his neck and opened the door. Leliana was sitting by a desk to the side of the now empty servants chamber. She looked dejected and tired, something he had never seen before in the bright and glowing young woman who, despite wearing the robes of the Chantry, could drink and celebrate with the best of them.

He sat on the desk, and waited for her to look up at him. Yes, she looked pale, and she looked scared. "I have an idea of who you are. Would you like me to start?"

She didn't respond, so he decided to start anyway.

"You're Orlesian."

The wry look she gave him was definitely one which questioned his intelligence as to ask a question where the answer was so obvious. August raised his hands placating. "I'm getting somewhere with this, I promise. You're Orlesian, yes?"

She bowed her head, "Yes."

"I'm guessing you spent a great deal of your time in the capital, Val Royeaux?"

She nodded. "Yes."

the next words he spoke in Orlesian, a little rusty with time but hopefully still fluent. _"You were a Bard there, yes?"_

Leliana looked up at him, eyes wide and shimmering before looking down at the table again. _"Yes, how did you know I was originally from Val Royeaux?"_

"I always thought I recognised your accent as being from the capital." August replied, reverting back to the King's tongue. "I had suspicions since our little sojourn outside of Lothering. A Chantry Sister well schooled in weapons, that came across as more than a little suspicious. You're accent has been muddied somewhat from being in Ferelden for a few years but such things never truly disappear, plus you're beauty is a regal and elegant sort I associate with Orlais. Ferelden girls tend to be considerably more down to earth, never afraid to get their hands dirty."

Leliana smiled sadly. "As expected. I always knew deep down you were a smarter sort than most."

"Not sure if that's a compliment or not." August allowed, inclining his head. "So why are you here, Lady Bard?"

"Not to kill you, if that's what you think."

"That part I got." August replied, shaking his head. "You've had ample opportunity to kill both me and Alistair then disappear into the night. You strike me as a talented assassin when you were still in the business of the Great Game. My guess is that you became a Sister and ran to Ferelden because something happened in Orlais, something which was so serious that you needed to flee from everything you knew and those assassins we faced in the courtyard was your past catching up with you. Stop me if I'm wrong?"

"You are correct, yes." Leiana allowed, unwilling to look him in the eye.

"So, onto my next question." August asked, sitting on the table and making her look up at him. "Who is hunting you?"

For a long moment Leliana was silent, but then she sighed and the words spilled out. The one hunting her was a wealthy aristocratic widow named Marjolaine, a noble in the Orlesian court, but also a bard and mercenary spy-master, who had also been her mentor and lover. A mission had gone south, Leliana had been betrayed, imprisoned and tortured before finally freeing herself and escaping to Lothering to both hide from her mentor and atone for her sins.

"She will come after you again?" August asked, arms folded.

Leliana nodded. "I know things she would rather see buried. To tell you the truth I was surprised it took her so long to send assassins after me."

"I understand."

"Do you want me to leave?" She asked tentatively.

August's brow rose. "Why?"

"I have a target on my back."

The Warden snorted. "Join the club."

The bard watched him, eyes widening ever so slightly. "But this isn't some scorned backwater noble or a bunch of bandits. This is a noblewoman of the Orlesian court, who has influence in the Orlesian court and an army of spies and assassins under her command."

"Leliana," August raised his hand to stop her. "Look at this company. I have three Mages who any other time would be labelled Apostates, a thief who is probably being hunted by one of the most powerful Arl's in Ferelden, a murderous Qunari and two Grey Wardens trying to do the impossible in record time."

She continued to stare.

"I'm not going to ask you to leave because of your past, if anything I _need_ a Bard right now more than ever. You trained under a spy-master and I need someone capable of setting up spy networks and tell me things about the nobility which I will probably miss." August offered a lopsided grin. "And if this Marjolaine tries again then we'll respond in kind and take the fight right to her doorstep."

There was a rap at the door, catching their attention and silencing Leliana's response. August scowled at the entrance, distinctly remembering that he had asked not to be disturbed. "Enter."

A guard opened the door, standing smartly at attention. "Begging your pardon Ser Warden, but there is news from the hall."

August and Leliana exchanged glances, then rose to their feet. "Go ahead."

"The ritual has been successful."

A smile spread across August's features. "Excellent. We will be there immediately."

The man nodded, snapping a salute before taking his leave. August waited for the door to close before turning back to Leliana. "You know how I feel about this, but the choice is yours. Will you stay with us?"

"I think I will." She replied, smiling bashfully.

The two of them ended their conversation there, leaving the small room and making their way to the grand hall. Connor sat on a chair, dazed and confused but looking well. Petra was kneeling beside him, hands alight with the soft glow of magic as the boy watched with rapt attention. Isolde hovered over the duo, fidgety and worried. Scattered across the hall were small groups of Mages, Templars and Castle Guardsmen. The Mages all looked tired and worn, sagging into chairs or leaning against walls with eyes closed.

He found his trio quickly enough. Morrigan was sitting against a wall, staff leaning against her shoulder as she watched the congregation of people with an impassive gaze. There was no physical sign that she had just been in the fade for two days fighting Demons. The same could not be said for Gwyneth and Mera, the two were sitting against the wall a little ways away from the Wilds Witch. The Elven Mage was lying against the taller Humans side, fast asleep with Gwyn's arm around her. The white haired Mage also seemed close to sleep, eyes drooping.

"No you don't," He chided softly, kneeling before them and nudging them both awake. "You'll both catch your death of cold here."

Gwyneth's head shot up, surprised and embarrassed to see him while Mera awoke slowly, yawning and rubbing at her eyes before seeing him and going into an adorable flush. Leliana knelt beside him, smiling fondly at the two of them. "Seems you all did well, yes?"

"Indeed they did, would expect no less from two of my most promising apprentices." Irving boasted, smiling proudly as he came to stand beside August. He also looked exhausted, and when you were the central lynchpin in a ritual to remove an evil spirit from a young boy there was no doubt at how taxing it could be. Both young women flushed further at his praise.

"Thank you." Gwyneth just managed a tired squeak, while Mera simply bobbed her head.

August chuckled. "Leliana, could you see to it our Mages are put to bed?"

"Of course, Ser Warden." The Bard turned Sister nodded, already hauling them to their feet despite their tired protests.

August walked over to Morrigan, watching as the raven haired Witch leaned back against the cold stone to look up at him. "How was it?"

"Twas not but a trifle." She answered flippantly. "The reason why it took us so long was because the Demon kept running away."

"How did my recruits do?" He asked.

She crinkled her nose, as if what she was about to say displeased her. "They were... adequate."

August snorted, "Coming form you that's the highest form of praise."

"You wanted my opinion, I gave it to you." She replied defensively.

"I know." August allowed. "And I owe you, thank you for doing this for me, Morrigan."

She was silent for a moment, eyeing his suspiciously before raising her head high and puffing out her chest. "Tis about time you admitted to my value."

"I never questioned your value," August sighed as he sat down beside her. "Only your attitude."

The woman huffed, but was obviously pleased with the praise.

"You should get some rest too." He allowed.

The woman scoffed. "Does thou take me for some Mage in a cage that needs coddling."

August gave her a shrewd look to which she ignored. "Alright. Rest, or don't rest its entirely up to you. Just seek me out when your rested and fed."

"And why is that?" She snipped.

"Varis found something during our travels to Kinloch Hold. Something I think you'd find very interesting." The Warden rose to his feet, dusting off his clothes. "Come, or don't come. Just like with my prognosis that you need sleep it's up to you, Lady of the Wilds."

he left her then, seemingly unaware that the Witch's keen eyes were watching his retreating back intently, with the curiosity of a cat and the sharpness of a fox. August did indeed get a visit from her later that evening, and he gave her the Grimoire of Flemith Varis had found in the First Enchanters office. She took it with hesitant fingers, looking at the black leather covered tome with flashing eyes, before thanking him tartly and leaving.

* * *

"So, Orzammar?" Alistair asked sheepishly.

August nodded, the candlelight setting his eyes ablaze as he glared at the map. "Yes, and now with all of this craziness out of the way we can get there unmolested."

It had been three days since the success of the cleansing ritual, and things were slowly returning to normalcy in Redcliffe. The Templars and the Mages had been housed within the castle alongside his people, pampered by the servants and praised continuously by the Arlessa. The visitors had seemed to enjoy it immensely, but time was wearing on and they were due back at Kinloch Hold, to prepare for the march south.

There were a few hiccups during those last few days, nothing of a serious note mind. His own Mages were all officially Warden recruits and outside of the reach of the Chantry, so the Templars left them alone for the most part. Morrigan was still bearing the brunt of the glares and whispers of Apostate but it was all water over rock by the way she ignored them. Isolde had put up a stiff resistance to Irving and Cullen when they explained that, no matter Connor's status, they could not ignore him. The rules of the Chantry were strict and no one was exempt.

Connor seemed to take this all pretty well for a scared child. He had listened to Irving when the First Enchanter explained the situation to him, and agreed to go with them without fuss. He was scared, terrified even, with the prospect of leaving all he knew, but the ordeal with the Demon had brought him to reality. He would go back with them to the tower.

It was agreed that a few Mages and Templars would remain behind. The Mages to watch over the ailing Arl and the Templars to watch over the Mages. Isolde had explained to them all that there were rumours of Andraste's final resting place high in the Frostback mountains and that her ashes could cure him. Nobody took her seriously, some listening kindly while others muttered about heresies when they thought no one was looking.

All in all just a typical day at Redcliffe Castle.

"Well it hasn't been a complete waste of time." Alistair pointed out. "We did just save a whole village, managed to enforce the Mages treaty and even recruited the Templars to our side. All in all for a disaster I'd say this was a pretty good one."

August couldn't argue with that. Even if his first plan was to recruit the Dwarves first he would admit that this setback hadn't been as bad as he had originally feared when he first came across the smoking remains of Redcliffe. By now his own message was probably halfway to the army at Ostagar, informing the Teyrn that a column of Mages and Templars were ready to move. It would probably be the best news Loghain would have heard since he left nearly three weeks ago.

Three weeks. Had it really been three weeks? And what had they done during that time? Battles in Lothering against the Darkspawn and again at Redcliffe against a demonically resurrected undead army, the recruitment of the Mages and the support of the Templars gained.

It had been a wild and chaotic three weeks.

"The Arlessa has been good enough to give us whatever provisions we need. I say we move out tomorrow, around noon. Maker willing with the horses we'll make it to the gates of Orzammar in another two days, present the treaties of the Dwarves then turn east past Denerim towards the Brecilian Forest. Hopefully Morrigan's boasting about finding the Dalish isn't all show." August massaged his temple, scowling before turning back to his fellow Warden. "Sound good?"

Alistair nodded. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Great," August began wrapping up the map, looking around for his backpack while he did so. "Inform the rest of them to get a good night's sleep and not skip on the breakfast tomorrow, because this'll probably be their last night in a bed for a while."

"Awe, and here was me getting used to those feathery mattresses again." Alistair quipped, about to leave before turning back around. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. The Templars were picking my brain asking when we'll be handing over that blood mage fellow."

"They came to you?" August asked with a tired chuckle. "You poor man."

"What can I say, word spread fast I was once a Templar trainee and since then they've been pestering me like crazy." Alistair grumbled. "Do this Alistair, do that Alistair, remember your oaths to the Maker Alistair. I swear the lot of them know how to guilt someone into sending messages for them."

Maker help him, August had completely forgotten about the whole business with Jowan. "We'll hand him over before we leave."

"Got it."

"And Alistair."

"Yeah?"

"The next time someone tries to guilt-trip you send them to me."

August's grin was mirrored by his fellow Wardens. "You sure, they're masters of the art?"

"I was trained in the art of politics by Bryce Cousland of Highever. They won't stand a chance after five minutes with me." He was surprised that he mentioned his father. The sorrow and anger was still there but it had lessened somewhat, not as raw as it had been during Highever or even during Ostagar. "I think I can deal with some overly pompous men in skirts."

"Can I have a front row seat to that?"

* * *

The next day came, and it turned out that the Templars and Mages had decided to leave on the same day as his group. They were all milling about in the main hallway, checking their packs and chatting amiably with each other.

August yawned, adjusting his backpack as he checked over his company. Everyone was present and accounted for, looking considerably better with the several days of rest that he had decided to give them. Everyone looked refreshed, fed, watered and ready to go. The Templars were once again in their armour, the Mages in their travelling robes. More than a few including Petra and a youngish man named Niall had bid them farewell and wished them the best.

All that was left was the handover. Jowan was brought up from the dungeons, flanked by two Templars in full plate who in turn were flanked by half a dozen guardsmen. Jowan himself was in chains, thick bracers on his wrists and ankles which clinked loudly as he walked, making his movements difficult and impossible for him to cut himself and use his blood magic.

he passed by everyone, eyes on the stone floor, avoiding eye contact until he saw Mera. The little Elf watched him intently, eyes of fire and August didn't blame her. Thanks to Jowan's lies and deceit she had been locked in the deepest, darkest depths of the Circle Tower with little but her own thoughts and the determination of a Templar for company. She had been used and abandoned by a man whom she had once called friend, brother even. She should hate him with every fibre of her being and be completely justified in it.

However...

He looked up, meeting her eyes with his and whispered two words, so simple and yet so heartfelt.

 _"I'm sorry."_

It wasn't until he had left, that the Templars and Mages had left to return to the tower of Kinloch Hold, did Mera break down and cry. She had been inconsolable for hours, and both Gwyneth and Varis had not left her side throughout. Her best friend and cousin offering her the support they had been unable to give her until now.

Even August felt some sympathy for Jowan. He had been scared when he made his decisions, but that did not absolve him. He had willingly made a deal with a demon and embraced blood magic. He had fled and left those closest to him to take the blame. He had poisoned the Arl of Redcliffe and helped start the chain of events which led to monumental loss of life. A village and Castle in ruins, hundreds dead, communities destroyed and in the end more questions than answers with his confession, more hostility than closure.

He had not forgotten the information the blood mage had given him, try as he might to forget. Was Loghain responsible for this? Or was this part of something else, something bigger? He needed more information, and he was sure he would find it in Denerim, capital city of Ferelden and seat of power for the nobility. He felt in his gut that he would find answers there.

Until then there was more pressing issues to resolve. There was still Dwarves and Elves to recruit, a Civil War to fight and a Blight in the south to overcome. Until these threats were removed he would continue to be what he always was, a loyal son of Ferelden.

Then there was the here and now.

August had decided to hold back on the journey for another few hours, just a few more hours to allow her to grieve. He understood, he supposed, for even though Jowan had been the unwilling architect of so much of her grief, that he had lied to her and manipulated her, she still considered him her brother. She knew what awaited him when he reached Kinloch Hold, and grieved for him. He would give her the time she needed.

They left Redliffe and began their journey to Orzammar two hours later than planned.

* * *

It turned out Mera was as good with horses as a fish out of water, as in no good at all. For nearly five minutes she and her horse, a striking chestnut mare, had a starring contest before they tried to get her onto the saddle, and then it was a miracle she didn't fall off and smash her head against the cobblestones. It was decided immediately after that she would ride with someone else, that someone else being Varis.

Other than that little slipup their farewell to Redcliffe went by without incident. They made a striking image, eight heavily armed and armoured individuals on horseback riding through the dirt roads of the village. People lined the street, cheering and throwing flowers as they rode past them. It felt nice to get some acclaim, thought August was adamant it not get to his head.

They were an hour out when a rider caught up to them, a soldier wearing the armour and colours of Gwaren, Loghain's own Teyrnir. He rode up to them on a magnificent black charger, who kicked up dust in his wake as he dashed and skidded to a halt right beside August. The man's armour was covered in dirt and his exposed skin in sweat. He looked like he had been riding nonstop for days.

"Hail, Grey Warden!" He yelled a greeting.

August raised his hand in acknowledgment. "Hail, good messenger. What seems to be the rush."

"A message from the Teyrn, Ser." The soldier replied, reaching out an envelope.

He took the envelope, turning it over to see the seal of Gwaren before using his family dagger to cut it open. He took out the letter, opened it and read. The more he read the more a relieved smile spread across his face. August folded the letter, placed it back into the envelope and stuffed it into one of his saddles satchels before turning back to the rider.

"You have my thanks good man. Go to Redcliffe, tell the innkeeper there that August Cousland sent you. They will put you up for the night."

"My thanks, Ser." The soldier saluted before turning his charger around and going in the opposite direction at a more civilised trot.

Alistair pulled his horse forward and by his side, brow raised questioningly. "What was that all about."

"I got some news from Ostagar." August replied, holding back a grin. "Personal news."

Fergus was awake.

That was the best news he had heard in weeks.

* * *

 _Still alive!_

 _Special thanks to lupusadaquilonem, Leaf Ranger, Jarjaxle, Judy, Uraharaisgod, BusyMonkey and goddragonking for the reviews. They mean a lot, thanks again._

 _The Redcliffe and Circle Tower arcs are over, the possession has been sorted, Jowan has been handed over to the Templars and the company is now on their way to Orzammar. The original destination at last. What will they find when they get there? I think we all know the answer to that. Prepare for August finally losing his temper._

 _Peace!_


End file.
